


Burning Heaven

by silverneko9lives0



Series: Clay [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe-New York City, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Christianity, Eventual Smut, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Homosexuality, M/M, Overcoming Homophobia, Priest, Priest Kink, Roman Catholicism, anti-Christian language and behavior, kind of, non-explicit mentions of past rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-26
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-30 12:06:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 85,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1018411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverneko9lives0/pseuds/silverneko9lives0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bilbo Baggins' partner, a war-correspondent journalist, dies in a car bombing in Afghanistan, his funeral is held in his brother’s church where Thorin Durin happens to preach at. Some time later, Bilbo and Thorin enter into a forbidden romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [燃燒天堂(Burning Heaven)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2781602) by [salicylate](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salicylate/pseuds/salicylate)



> I want you to know that I am a Christian who believes that homosexuality is more complex than it seems and is not something that deserves to be labeled as sinful without a FULL AND EXTENSIVE exploration as to why it should be called sinful. The homophobia in this story holds the views of thousands of Christians who I believe are missing the point. The Bible doesn’t outwardly name homosexuality as sinful and most things that are called sinful have good and moral reasons behind them. Moral reasons which do not back the belief of homosexuality being a sin.

My head screams at me and my skull throbs against the casing I call my muscles and skin. It’s nothing compared to the feeling in my stomach, demanding to be emptied. Or the throbbing in my backside. I move stiffly to the bathroom. It’d be easier not to bother walking, given how rough Dwalin was last night. But I’d rather not throw up in my own bed.

The scent of toilet water forces me to gag and orange and brown bile spills out until there is literally nothing in my stomach save gastric juices. I can’t move anymore. My legs are too weak to even hold me up. My body flashes from burning hot to freezing cold in minutes. And then back to burning.

I gasp for breath, flushing the toilet and pushing away from it. The porcelain body of the toilet is surprisingly soothing against the uncomfortable heat.”

The door opens and Bofur stands in the doorway, worried gaze shifting to gentle concern. “How long have you been here?”

“I don’t know,” I croak. “Half an hour at most, maybe.”

“You’re bum’s bleeding.”

“Not surprised,” I chuckle weakly.

Bofur left me for about five minutes, not that I cared or kept count. He returned with a blanket and the phone, wrapping me in the blanket before leaning against the wall and dialing a number.

“Who are you calling?”

“Nori,” he said.

Nori worked at the nearest hospital and is mine and Bofur’s roommate. On the bright side: we get free medical evaluations. On the not so bright side: Nori mother hens us. Me especially. He claims he’s nothing like his brother Dori, but for a guy who bashes heads with his brother more than I ever did with my father, he’s a lot like him.

“Don’t.”

“Too late,” Bofur said. “Nori, I found Bilbo. He’s home, naked, and looks like shit. He’s bleeding down there. Any tips?” Watching him mentally memorize Nori’s instructions are always interesting. Bofur’s eyes shift, he bobs his head with his lips slightly parted and his arms are crossed. “Okay. Thanks. Yeah, I’ll do that. See you in a few, Love.”

Bofur left the room again. I close my eyes, feeling another cold flash shoot through my body. I cough and my chest rattles as I do. I moan, resting my head against the cool porcelain again. Bofur returns, handing me a glass of water I take in my shaking hand. He places two Advil capsules in my other hand. “Where’s Dwalin?” I ask. “Still away?” Bofur blinks, biting his lip. “Could you call him? I feel like shit and I’d like to yell at him if I can.”

“Drink your water and the meds, Billy,” Bofur says. “How much do you remember from last night?”

“Nothing, but I guess Dwalin came home sometime, right?”

Bofur clenches and unclenches his fists. “Why do you think you went drinking?”

I shake my head. It hurts to think.

“Take the meds, Bilbo,” Bofur urged me again. This time, I obey. “Good, lad,” he sits beside me, petting my hair. “God, Bilbo, you’re sweating.”

“Really?”

“When did you start feeling feverish?”

“After I woke up. Am I still bleeding? Everything down there…hurts.”

“It’s slower, but I think…it might be torn.”

I snort weakly. “I’ll kill that idiot,” I mutter, thinking about wringing Dwalin’s neck when I see him next. My teeth chatter when another cold flash passes. The front door bangs open, making me wince.

Nori steps in, laying his medical kit in front of the sink as he examines me, asking me much of the same questions Bofur did.

“Will someone _please_ get Dwalin on the phone?” I demand, handing an empty cup to Bofur again. Neither move, sharing the same expression of sorrow I had seen earlier. “What?”

Nori sighed, turning to Bofur. “Get the letter,” he said.

“But—”

“Not reminding him is crueler.”

“He’ll just go on another bender and some other asshole will do this to him.”

“That’s why I’m going to call Ori to ask him if he can skip school and keep an eye on Bilbo,” Nori said. Bofur left. “Do you really remember nothing from last night?”

I shake my head. “Everything’s blank.” Bofur hands me a sheet of paper—a very familiar sheet, stamped with the President’s seal and the NY Times logo—

I remember getting it. I don’t recall the contents, but whatever it is I don’t want to read it again.

“I’m so sorry,” Nori pulled me into a one arm hug. “I wish there was any other way around it. There was a bomb planted under a jeep near the army’s base. He and four soldiers were killed in Kunduz a week ago. Dwalin’s funeral is in three days.”

And that’s the end of it. Everything spills back, or doesn’t. At the very least, I remember why I decided to get drunk last night. But who came home with me?

“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up—Bofur, go change his sheets and bag them so we can get them to Dori. Maybe there’s some DNA that isn’t Bilbo’s so we can catch the fucker who did this.”

“It’s not like you’ll find evidence of rape.”

“Bilbo, you’re bleeding and you were drunk and you just lost your partner in a terrorist bombing. I think giving consent for someone to fuck you that hard…well, it’s not very likely. We’ll figure it out.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“No, and I’ve only two questions left: _Dark Crystal_ or _Mirrormask_.”

“Neither,” I sigh. “ _Hansel and Gretel_.” Just to get him off my back. I’ve really no interest in drowning everything out by watching a movie. I’d rather they give me more scotch. Bofur is on the phone with Dori, explaining the situation. I don’t feel well enough to care, and if I was, I doubt I’d be able to give two shits anyway.

“Okay. Up you get,” Nori helps me up and the blanket slips. I grab it tighter around me. The nice thing about having a nurse around is that the things you’re generally embarrassed about don’t faze him too. Other than a weak complaint, I could not fight him as he waited for me to clean up. I managed to without vomiting again.

Thank God.

He had Bofur bring me a change of clothes.

I can’t bring myself to care that Bofur’s been in my underwear drawer. If he noticed anything in there that _probably_ should be better hid, he said nothing.

Every move made is monotonous. My head is still throbbing and it is an effort not to collapse in the shower. Nori heads to the kitchen when I am able to stand on my own two feet, allowing me to dress in privacy. A glance in the mirror told me more than I really needed to know.

I look as shitty as I feel. Emotionally, I am numb. How nice it would be to feel numb at all. The black turtleneck almost chokes me. The jeans seem a little too tight.

“Bilbo?”

I turn to see Nori leaning in the doorway.

“There’s some toast waiting for you if you think you can eat. Bofur went to take the sheet to Dori.”

“There really isn’t a need.”

“There _is_. That guy took advantage of you when you were in no possible way capable of giving consent. And you just received news your partner…” I glare at him “I’ll just shut up. Come and eat. Or try to. Please?”

I follow him to the kitchen, slumping into a seat at the table were the light smell of grain and butter tickle my nose. I wait for nausea to attack again. Satisfied the smell won’t make me sick, I take a slice of bread and lather butter on it before taking a small bite.

It doesn’t seem possible. Yesterday, Dwalin was supposed to come home. He wrote he would be home by yesterday’s date. To think he is dead…it’s not possible. Yet I know it’s true and that it’s entirely possible for him to have been a victim of a terrorist attack.

I set the toast down, pushing my plate away.

“Now I know I have to take you to the hospital. You’re not eating.” I glare at Nori, who sighs. “Ori’ll be here soon and I have to get back to work, Bill. No alcohol.”

Great, I can’t even be trusted to be home alone by my closest friends. Nori has to send his baby brother to babysit _me_. Can anyone really blame me for wanting to get drunk last night? It’s not like I’m suicidal or anything.

“Think you’ll be okay?”

“Yes, Nori,” I sigh, “I’ll be fine.”

Rapping at the door calls Nori away from the kitchen. I stand and follow stiffly, deciding to lay on the couch and watch violent steampunk action as I decided I might.

“Hey, Bilbo,” Ori greeted, fixing his backpack.

I smile weakly at the lad, not feeling all that up to the usual jokes I’d pull on the kid. Ori’s nineteen and recently began studying at the local university.

I’ve known his brother and Bofur since our own university days when we were assigned to be roommates. Hadn’t roomed with anyone else since college. Bofur and Nori started dating in our second year and I met Dwalin after graduating five years ago. Dwalin was a few years older than us and tougher looking.

But it’s a little hard to see him as threatening (muscles, tattoos, and piercings aside) when he had trouble getting the words, “could I buy you a drink,” the night we met two days after we got our degrees (except Nori, who was continuing on to nursing school after finishing his pre-med degree) at a local bar on campus. I actually thought it was adorable.

I don’t believe we expected to start dating after that one night. We certainly didn’t expect to be in a long term relationship. The War Correspondent job didn’t come along until a year ago. Before then, Dwalin worked writing articles about crime around the city.

I’m…let’s just say I’m dedicated to my craft. I write essays, poetry, short stories. Most of my money comes from that. I also ghost-write, but I have no current projects in ghost writing and recently submitted a collection of poems to a publisher.

Whether my work gets published or not has yet to be determined and I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

Ori is doing what I guess is homework, leaving me to myself on the couch watching Gemma Arterton head-butt the sheriff and break his nose.

It’s actually kind of satisfying, in a way. My emotions are numbed as the movie plays…

“Bilbo?” I glance at Ori. “I was going to order pizza. You want some?”

“No, but thanks.”

“Okay.” He holds the phone to his ear and I go back into the protective cocoon and lethargic state I was in before he pulled me out to ask about _pizza_ of all things! I should probably give the kid a break, but my tolerance level is too low to give a shit.

I want a drink, but it’s not likely I’ll get the chance to escape. Ori may be in the other room, but he’s amazingly perceptive for a kid. And I don’t doubt Nori to be very explicit on what he’d do to his little brother if I’m caught with alcohol. (I’m not that cruel.) I debate taking pain-killers or something, but the last time I did _that_ , I didn’t have an angry best friend or boyfriend—there was a full scale intervention. Family and friends alike. I’m still reaping the consequences of that at the NA meetings they pushed me to go to. (No one in this apartment was free to judge my drinking habits, so that was left alone.)

Usually when I couldn’t get high, or drunk, I would just call Dwalin. That always cheered me up, even when he couldn’t come home to fuck me. The man was a natural at talking dirty (once he got over his shyness when he asked you to drink with him).

And now I won’t hear him at all. Not for phone sex. Not for a basic, everyday conversation. I won’t hear him tell me he loves me anymore.

How fucked up is that?

I won’t get to feel the scratch of his beard against my neck or chin when he kissed me. I won’t get to feel his large—so much larger than mine—and calloused hands on my skin or hold me up or pin me down. I won’t be able to trace the tattoos he sported, especially the ones he decided to have etched into his scalp when he chose to shave off his Mohawk and go bald.

My vision blurs, so I close my eyes, biting my lip until I taste blood. The air is sucked out of my lungs and my eyes sting from tears I can’t keep back any more. If I breathe, I know my crying will be heard and I really just want to be alone in my grief right now.

I want to scream and cry and break whatever I can break! I want to cuss and swear and demand justice!

Why shouldn’t I?!

I _lost_ my lover! He was _stolen_ from me!

So screw you! I don’t _want_ to give a fuck anymore! I don’t want to hear your assurances that things just fucking happen or that your _god_ has a plan! And if you do believe in God, you’d fucking condemn Dwalin to Hell—you’d condemn _a good man_ to Hell without knowing him solely because he was attracted to other men!

If your god judges someone for loving another of the same sex, I want nothing to _do_ with him! I don’t want to hear about him! I don’t want to know what he’s selling!

Just leave me alone. Let me mourn my partner alone…

#

I wake up still on the couch. The kitchen light is on and I hear Nori and Bofur whispering, so I stand to go and tell them to quit whispering behind my back.

“…on it?”

“Yeah. How’s Bilbo?”

“Still asleep when I checked on him last. Please tell me you know what I should tell Balin? I think Bilbo should go to the funeral, but Balin might not…”

“Yeah…I don’t know how to approach Dwalin’s brother any more than you do. Hell, I don’t know if the guy will even pay for a _headstone_ let alone a funeral.”

I clear my throat, forcing them to look at me. “I’ll talk to Balin alone,” I say, finalizing that argument.

“Feeling okay?”

I scoff. “As okay as I can be in this situation.”

“Bilbo, I think you should go to the doctor,” Nori said. “We don’t know the details of last night’s incident. It’s just to be sure.”

“Yeah, I’ll schedule an appointment with Oin in the morning,” I promise, approaching the table, sitting between them. “I haven’t eaten anything save a couple nibbles of toast. Is there something microwave ready.”

“Ori left a box of half a pizza if you don’t mine pepperoni.” Nori jumped up, getting the box from the counter. “Would you like something else?”

“I don’t care so long as I eat _something_ ,” I say, laying my arms on the table and my head on my arms.

“You _should_ have been drinking water through the day _at least_ ,” Nori muttered, heating three slices in the microwave. Bofur snorted, patting my shoulder.

“Are you sure you want to face Balin alone?” he asked.

“Would it make it any better or worse? I can’t say I know what Balin will do, but I _do_ hope he’ll overlook Dwalin’s sexuality and give him a funeral. I can’t afford one.” _I do not want to think about this right now, but I guess now rather than never will have to do_. “They used to be close before Dwalin came out, so maybe…I don’t know.”

“Well, we’ll go with you for moral support anyway,” Nori decided, setting a hot plate and a glass of Pepsi in front of me. “Well…Bofur will. I’ll be going to make sure he doesn’t start throwing punches if things go sour.”

I smile. Not a true smile, but it’s still a smile of sorts. I watch them snap back and forth at each other, Nori’s Italian heritage bursting forth. It’s nostalgic, but entertaining so long as I don’t get thrown in the middle of it.

Dwalin’s elder brother, Balin, is Catholic and very conservative. He urged Dwalin to give up being homosexual to the point of driving him away. My previous encounters with Balin had all been nasty. Not on my part. Every time Balin tried to talk to me, Dwalin would find himself on the defensive, thinking he heard homophobic shit even in a general, simple, and very neutral “hello.”

Similarly is Dwalin’s experience with my own family. I don’t get along with my father at all for the exact same reasons Dwalin never got along with his brother in the years I knew him. My father is a pastor and he almost disinherited me.

My mother was far more accepting the day I came out and was the only one standing between me and my father cutting me off. _“I had my suspicions for a while,”_ she told me. _“It changes nothing. You’re still my son even if your father doesn’t understand.”_

She is the daughter of a more obscure leader of the feminist movement and a Civil Rights activist, so homosexuality was less of an enigma to her than it was to my father. Even when my father’s side of the family refused to have anything to do with me, my maternal relatives were very supportive of me. Helps having wealthy relatives. My grandparents put me through college when I expressed a desire to continue my education.

They weren’t too sure what to think of Dwalin until they got to know him. Of course, my father only gave him a look and that was the end of the story. It was bad enough when I came out. To come home with Dwalin beside me, towering over my small relatives with his muscles, the motorbike, the tats, the piercings…not only was I gay, I was dating one of “Hell’s Angels.”

Which was not true. Dwalin was _never_ affiliated with a biker gang of any sort. Yet my father would not be dissuaded.

After two separate and equally disastrous family events, we kept to ourselves. Better to spend the holidays with each rather than bother ruining the mood by spending them with our families.

Did it make my mother cry when all I sent home were cards and sat through her calls explaining why I wasn’t coming home for Christmas? Yes, and I always felt bad for doing that to her. But the options were have a terrible holiday with my father glaring judgmental daggers at me and Dwalin, have the same thing happen with Balin and Dwalin all but throwing cutlery at each other, or spending it in front of the fire with _It’s a Wonderful Life_ or some other Holiday classic playing on the TV curled up in Dwalin’s lap.

Which sounds nicer to you?

I stand, taking the pizza and empty glass to the dish washer. I’m not sure I’m ready to speak to Balin, but it’s not as though I have much of a choice.

I let my friends work through their argument, which has shifted to something completely irrelevant to what they had been talking about before. I respectfully bow out before they drag me into the fray and escape to my room.

I grab a book from the shelf and sit on my bed. A photograph of Dwalin and me at our favorite bar taunts me. Furious, I lay the frame face down so I wouldn’t have to see it. I open the book and begin to read, trying to lose myself in the story.

It doesn’t help.

Perhaps I should write. I don’t want to write.

I want Dwalin. Irrational as it seems, I want him here. It was hard enough without him with me since he left for Afghanistan. Very hard. The video conferences were short and static at times. The letters were always personal to some level. And the phone calls were torture.

Nothing compared to having him here where he was supposed to be. How can any of that make up for not having him beside me in bed or laughing with him?

At times I doubted him and vice versa. It was bound to happen with a long distance relationship and this year hadn’t been without trials. There were many times we thought our relationship would end since he went to Afghanistan…

I didn’t expect it to end at the hands of a bomber.

The book falls out of my hands, a weight against my feet. I run my fingers through my hair, pulling my knees to my chin and hiding my face between them, gasping for air. Jaw clenched, nasal passages stuffed with dry mucus, and my eyesight darkened by tears clinging to my lashes before trailing down my cheeks.

#

I leave the medicine Oin prescribed for me in the car (“You seem fine, but take these just in case,” he had said, handing me a list of medications. “I already called the pharmacy, so you need only stop by on your way home”), standing across the street from the law firm Balin worked at trying to gather enough courage to walk in and talk to him.

I had decided against calling Nori and Bofur for back up. I can handle Balin. I only need to walk in and see if he’s in. I don’t expect him to be. A major loss in a family…well, most get a couple days off, so I won’t be surprised if he isn’t in…

I inhale, walking across the street and into the firm. A receptionist smiles at me.

“How may I help you?”

“Is Balin Fundin available?” Her smile falters. Figures. “If not is there a way for me to contact him?”

“Mr. Fundin suffered a lost this week, he won’t be reachable for some time.”

“I know,” I swallow. Moment of truth. “That loss was my partner.”

Her mouth turns into an O. She goes to the mail box. “Mr. Fundin thought you might stop by. He asked me to give these to you.” She held her hand out, two envelopes pinched between her fingers.

I take them. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’m sorry for your loss.”

I bit down a growl that really won’t do me much good. I thank her again and leave. The first one is from Balin. The second is covered in stamps, having traveled from the Middle East to get here.

I debate which to open first before opening the letter that came from Afghanistan. Within is a photograph from a booth we visited with Nori and Bofur before he left. Also in the envelope is his chain. It’s broken. Why was it here? Dwalin _never_ took this thing off.

 _To the men in the photo,_ the letter began. _You probably don’t know me, but I am a friend of Mr. Dwalin. When my parents died, he took me in. My name is Dehqan. Mr. Dwalin taught me a lot of things and my English speaking improves every day. He didn’t tell me much about you, but I guess you and he were very close. I asked a Soldier to write this for me because I can’t write very well. I got his necklace from him after it got caught on something and broke. I decided to send it to you because I think you might need it more than me. I hope that’s okay. Dwalin was a nice man, though I was scared of him a little at first…_

I laugh, though it’d sound more like a choked cough from mixing with more tears. Oh, I know of this kid. Dwalin did tell me about Dehqan and his circumstances which led to Dwalin taking him in weeks after finding him on the streets. He was considering finalizing an adoption. I wasn’t sure about it at first, but I did like the idea of taking in a kid.

Now I wonder if it’d be at all possible.

Hell, I don’t even know if Dehqan is still alive.

I put the memorandums in the envelope and pick up the one from Balin. It’s a smaller envelope. The greeting card 3 by 5 variety, except black. My name is printed on the front in silver, loopy, slanted script. I rip it open, pulling out what appears to be an invitation and the other is short.

_We need to talk.—Balin_

Listed under the note is an address and a date to meet: Tomorrow at noon.

I look at the invitation again.

_In loving memory Of Dwalin Fundin_

_1978-2013_

_The Honor of your presence is requested at the memorial service_

_Saturday the twenty-sixth of October at two o’clock in the afternoon_

_St. Patrick’s Cathedral_


	2. Chapter 2

I take the subway to get the place Balin asked me to meet him at: a book shop near Time Square. There is a coffee stand bunched in the corner. Balin is sitting at a table. I forgo the coffee and go to his table. Balin looks up. His eyes are red and there are black smudges beneath.

He manages a smile. “Hello, Bilbo.”

I sit down, shaking his hand. “Hello, Balin. Thank you for the invitation. I wasn’t sure if you’d actually give him a funeral.”

“Of course I would!” Balin frowns. “I may have disagreed with Dwalin on a few things, but he’s still my brother. That never changed. Would you like something to drink?”

I shake my head. “I’m fine, thanks. You said you wanted to talk in the note you sent me with the other things.”

“Yes, I do. Dwalin asked me for help getting a little boy out of Afghanistan. Did you know about this?”

“I did. He wrote a letter to me…well, to me, Bofur, and Nori. Why?”

“Well, the adoption was finalized just before the…incident and Dwalin asked if it were possible to make you Dehqan’s legal guardian if anything were to happen to him.”

I lean back in my seat.

“He didn’t discuss that with you?”

“If he intended to, he never got the chance. And I’d like to say I could take in the lad, but I’m barely able to pay for everything I need to take care of myself.”

“So you do not mind surrendering guardianship to me instead? It may be easier to do that. I’m sure he’ll want to meet you, so I won’t stop you from visiting if you like. He’ll be here in time for the funeral.”

My jaw tenses. I can’t support the kid, and Balin can. And yet I’m afraid the kid might not be given the right to choose who he wants to be when he’s older.

Still, I nod. What other choice do I have? I’m not ready financially to take in a kid. If it were me _and Dwalin_ , I could do it.

Thinking on it, I don’t know if I can. Grief aside, I’m ten kinds of messed up. Would I really be the best guardian for Dehqan? A part of me is grateful Dwalin had that much confidence in me and another part is wondering what the hell he was thinking.

“I’ll talk to Social Services, when I get home then. How are you holding up?”

I scoff. “How do you think?”

Balin hummed, leaning back. “You know, he loved you. I may not have liked it much, but even the densest idiot could tell he loved you. Talked about you whenever we were able to pull our heads out of our butts long enough to be civil to each other.”

“I didn’t know he talked to you.”

“Oh, we talked quite a bit. I just had to make sure to bite my tongue and keep my thoughts to myself. Didn’t work that well. I still ended saying something to upset him. And when that happened, it was as though he forgot I was his brother and that I did love him even if it didn’t seem like it. Are you sure you don’t want something to drink?”

“I’m sure, but thank you anyway.”

“Okay…one last thing…and I am sorry to say this, but to get him a funeral at my church, I had to…lie about a couple things. I am _very_ sorry, Bilbo, but if anyone asks how you know him, could you introduce yourself as his friend instead of as his partner?”

A paralyzing numbness seeps from my chest outward, freezing me into place where I sat. Following it, flooding my head and overtaking rational thought, is red hot liquid rage. My hands shake, clawing at my jeans as they curl into white-knuckled fists.

The urge to jump to my feet, to break Balin’s nose, is near overwhelming. Still, the nugget of rationality still there whispers to me. _Let it go_ , it says, _it’s not worth it. He’s not worth it._

I lean forward, glaring. “No,” I hiss. “I’m not ashamed of who I am. Nor was Dwalin ashamed of himself.”

“I didn’t mean to offend—”

“Yes. You did. You can say whatever you like. Whatever helps you sleep at night, though I really do wonder. But you did offend me _and_ Dwalin by asking me to lie. I’m not going to lie about my relationship with your brother just because you decided to hold his funeral in a church.” I stand. “I’ll see you at the funeral tomorrow.”

And with that said, I had to leave. If I stayed longer, I dread to think what could have happened. Okay, ten years ago, I’d not have bothered speaking. I’d have just punched him until I was satisfied. I refuse to be ashamed for being gay.

Why should I be? Why is that the only thing about me people see when they look at me?! Heterosexuals aren’t chained by their sexuality, so why should being homosexual chain me and other gays?!

I dive into an alley, trying to hide from others. I kneel, hyperventilating and pulling my hair. I gasp for air, cursing God, the devil, and everyone between for everything wrong in this world.

What did I do that was so _wrong_ , so _heinous_ , that I am judged without probable cause?! Why do you believe my sexuality, something I can’t control, is sinful?! Do you even know what sin is?! If so, then you know that you are just as “evil” as I am! I may not believe anymore, but I grew up in a Christian household. I _know_ all too well what you do! And here’s the kicker: all sin is equal and we are all evil in our sin. We all lie, we all lust. And are those not sins? What makes me so much worse than you?!

**_TELL ME!!!_ **

#

The city is drowning by the time I get home, rain pounds the glass and the roofs and the pavement like drums. I drag my feet to the bed, peeling off my wet clothes and climb into bed. I stare at the wall, my back facing the door.

I’m here and yet it was too far to get here. For what purpose is all this for?

Why didn’t I try harder to convince Dwalin not to go? I begged him not to go, why didn’t I try harder? Why didn’t I try to stop him?

I can spend an eternity coming up with questions asking myself why and what and how. It won’t change anything. I can’t turn back the clock.

Someone knocks on my door. A part of me doesn’t want to bother getting out of bed, but I know I can’t wallow in self pity. Even if I wanted to, someone would kick me in the rear anyway.  With such in mind, I answer the door. Nori blinks.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re mom’s here. You want to talk to her?”

I shake my head. “No, but I’ll see her. I’m not up for talking right now.”

“You went to see Balin without us?”

“I didn’t _need_ you to come with me in the first place.”

“And he said something.” Nori growled a curse. “That sunuvabitch.”

I let him rant as I put on dry clothes: a pair of sweats and a large t-shirt before pushing past him. Mom is talking to Bofur in the living room. Seeing me, Bofur nods. “Nori!” he called. Nori stomped by, still muttering obscenities about Balin as Bofur pushes him out the door.

Mom only takes a look at me to know talking is far from my mind. She sits on the couch and I beside her. She wraps her arm around me and I lay my head on her shoulder. I’ll be embarrassed later and will be glad that my friends have decided to evacuate for the time being. But for now, I don’t care that I’ve all but literally turned back into a child needing his mother again because I do need her right now.

Apart from her humming and the occasional sob passing through my lips, the only sound is the ticking clock hanging on the wall, counting the seconds for us.

Mom squeezes my shoulder. “Are you hungry?”

“Not really.”

She stands. “Well, that won’t do. Goodness, you and your friends need to eat more.”

“Mom…”

“You know it’s true.” She heads to the kitchen, opening the door. I watch, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed. Mom sends me a look, clicking her tongue. “When was the last time you boys went grocery shopping?”

“Uh…about a week…or two.”

“And I thought Nori motherhenned you all!”

“He _does_ motherhen us,” I assure. “But I’m the one who cooks and the last couple days haven’t exactly…”

“So you’re living on a lime that’s sprouting fur and take out?” She clicks he tongue again. “Get your coat.”

“Mom—”

“Come on!” she pushed me to my room. “If you left it to me, I’d get stuff no one here likes. Like vegetables.”

“I like vegetables.”

“No, you don’t. You _tolerate_ them.” I shrug. It’s true. “Which is more than I can say for your buddies. Now get your coat—don’t make me ask again—and let’s go.”

I sigh, resigning myself to her demands. There’s no point battling her anyway. I trade the sweats for a dry pair of jeans and pull on socks and water proof hiking boots before meeting her at the front door, sliding my jacket back onto my shoulders. It’s still cold and a little wet. I shiver under it, following Mom out of the apartment and to the market.

Within minutes, I know she’s piled the cart up to an amount that I can’t afford and I try to stop her. She waves me off.

“Let me do this.”

“But I shouldn’t have to go to you for money!”

“And did you ask me to buy this for you? No. I took it on myself. So technically I’m telling you to swallow your pride and take it.”

“That’s even worse,” I snap. But she keeps pushing the car down the aisles. She may as well be clearing a butt load of crap in the cart given how full it’s getting.

Thankfully she doesn’t humiliate me further than I already feel. I follow her out of the market, carrying more groceries than I ever have in my life.

Which really must say something about my mother’s sanity. Forget how I’m going to find the money to pay her back for all of this. (Normally what would happen is that everyone chipped in a few bucks for groceries and would hand me a list of things they wanted me to get them. It works fairly well most of the time).

“Now, what do you say about lasagna for dinner?”

“Sure, Mom.”

“Good,” Mom patted my arm, “Help me make it.” One of the neighbors at my apartment building holds the door open for us. I thank him, but Mom decides to have a show down with him.

I turn around. “Mom, just come inside.” I smile at the man apologetically, before shifting to glare at her. Must she turn every polite gesture into a battle about gender roles and feminism? Really. Must she? Some people are just being nice.

She walks in with a sigh and the man sends me an appreciative nod before continuing on his way. “Bilbo, you shouldn’t condone male chauvinistic behavior.”

“It’s not male chauvinist to hold a door open for an old lady, Mom. It’s polite. And if you haven’t noticed, he was holding it open for me too.” I indicate the bags in my arms. She opens the door to my apartment. “Tell me how that’s male chauvinist behavior? I want to know.”

“I don’t expect you to understand the troubles we women go through.”

I release a frustrated groan, setting the bags on the table. We separate the foods that go into the refrigerator from what goes into a cupboard. Mom fits everything together like a puzzle piece, tossing out the lime and shifting the take out to the top corner of the frig.

Two gallon jugs of milk, three half gallons of orange juice, three half gallons of apple juice, a refilled water filter; a carton of eggs; more fruit and vegetables than I know what to do with (Nori and Bofur are going to _love_ that); cold cuts of ham and turkey; American, Mozerella, and Cheddar cheese blocks…

Let’s just say the refrigerator is fuller than usual. Same as the freezer, filled with things that go in a freezer, like frozen chicken, three different pizzas, frozen vegetables, and two cartons of ice cream. (Who doesn’t like ice cream?)

The cupboards are piled with pasta, rice, bread, jams, peanut butter, and condiments I was either out of or low on. Mom only leaves out the ingredients to make lasagna, snapping at me to get whatever else we’d need: the skillet, pans, bowls, things we put away accidently (like olive oil and Italian seasoning).

“Mom,” I begin, filling a large pot with water for the noodles, counting how many quarts were added (so not to add too little or too much salt to the water), “Who told you about what happened to Dwalin?”

“The Times did,” she said. “His obituary was listed.”

“You look at the obits?”

She shrugs. “Anyway, I saw that and came as soon as I could.”

“Doe Dad…”

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” she says, lips thinning. She adds the olive oil to a skillet before dumping the ground beef inside it. “If he does, he hasn’t said anything to me.” She hands me a spoon, switching with me so to go dice the peppers and onion. “It may be for the best if he doesn’t. I don’t know what he’d say to you if he did, but I fear it won’t be good.”

Figures.

“The funeral is tomorrow, right?”

“Yes. I’m going, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Why is it at a church? Do you know?”

“His brother’s Catholic and he’s paying for the service.” A spot of hot oil jumps up when I scrape the meat a little too hard off the pan. I hiss when it hits my skin.

The reminder of how my day was going until Mom stopped by unexpectedly caught me unawares with the revelation of how much I feel at peace I am right now, getting burned by a drop of oil or not.

Convinced the meat is completely cooked, I move it to a paper towel so to blot out the grease and Mom adds the vegetables.

“You seem better than you did two hours ago.”

“Cooking distracts me.”

“Well you are a Took more than you ever have been a Baggins,” Mom says with a bright smile. “Sweetie, I can’t say the hurt you feel will ever go away, but you are loved and you’re not alone and Dwalin was lucky to have you in his life as long as he did. The beef.”

“Pardon?” I’m not sure how consoling me went to beef.

“You can put it back in the skillet now.”

I blush, adding the meat to the vegetables. Mom gets a pot ready to make the sauce in. Five minutes pass and I scrape the concoction in the skillet into the pot. Mom dumps tomato sauce, paste and diced tomatoes into the pot while I measure the oregano, Italian seasoning, and anything else she tells me to as she continues to taste the sauce before telling me to stop.

Steam rises from the boiling water so I add the noodles to that while Mom sets the sauce to a simmer. She oils the glass pan and turns the oven on.

She layers the lasagna bit by bit before putting the dish in the oven and setting the timer for forty-five minutes while I clean up the kitchen, rinsing out the utensils before piling them in the dishwasher. I set the table while Mom makes a salad and cuts French bread into smaller slices. She opens a bottle of white wine, pouring two glasses.

She hands one to me. “I am proud of you, Bilbo.”

I frown at her. “Why? I don’t have a proper job. At least not by anyone’s eyes. And I’ve been a mess the last three days.”

“But you do what you love and you work hard at it. And I wouldn’t expect you to be emotionally sound right now, even if you seem together at the moment. You’ve been on a rough road and you’ve never chosen the easy path and that is why I am proud. Dwalin made you a better man when he was alive and I look forward to seeing the man you’ll become in the future. ‘When the heart grieves over what it has lost, the spirit rejoices over what it has left.’”* She tapped her glass to Bilbo’s. “Cheers.”

I raise the glass to my mouth, sipping. It’s dry in my mouth and doesn’t quench my thirst.

The door opens and the sound of Bofur and Nori laughing fills the air.

“Get two more plates set, Bilbo,” Mom says, heading into the room to usher them into the kitchen. I obey, setting the glass down.

“When’s dinner?” Bofur asked, sitting on the East side of the table. I sit at the South.

“Not for another half an hour.”

“Huh.”

I arch an eyebrow at him. “You don’t look like shit anymore. Maybe your mom should move in with us.”

“ _No._ God knows I love her, but _no_. To ask my mother to move in with us would be the same as asking Bombur or Dori to move in.”

Bofur’s smile vanished. “Point taken.”

Nori entered with Mom beside him. More wine was poured, another toast made, and seats taken.

“Besides, just push me to cook and I’ll be fine.”

“I’ve no problems with that.”

“He’s cooking again?” Nori asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. I nod my head toward the frig. Nori steps toward it and opens it. “Tell me that’s not an illusion.”

“I promise you it isn’t. My arms are still sore from carrying all that up three flights of stairs.”

“It’ll do you good, Bilbo.”

“Sure, Mom. If you say so.” I drink my wine, refusing to meet her mocking glare.

#

St. Patrick’s Cathedral.

I really ought to have figured it’d be _the_ St. Patrick’s Cathedral. I thought it was just a tourist attraction. I hadn’t known it actually was a parish church also.

Bofur and Nori push me forward when my feet refuse to move. A part of me kind of understands Balin’s rude request yesterday. Back in May, LGBT sympathizers protested against the insinuation that homosexuals should practice celibacy.

I stare at the inscription above the doors:

_Spritus Sanctus in nominae Deo Ille quem mittet Pater vos decibit omnia._

I think. The engraved bronze Jesus and saints stared at us, as though daring us to enter. I try to steady my heart.  What am I afraid of? Bofur opens the door and we step inside, handing our invitations to a foreman. A guest book taunts us.

“Write in me,” it says. “And document that you’ve dared to step into the house of God.”

A bowl of water stares at us and we circle around it, unsure what its use is actually for. It is cold inside. Should a church really be this cold? Or is there a point to making a church cold for the sake of beauty? The stained glass windows depict the life of Christ from window to window. The stone turrets tower over us and the organ music echoes somberly.

Balin spies us waving us over. “Thank you for coming,” he said.

A little boy fidgeted in the pew up front, tugging at the dress shirt’s collar around his neck. He looks at us and his dark eyes widen. With fear or awe, I can’t tell.

He jumps up and points at us, speaking in a language I do not recognize, a bright smile on his face, showing the gaps in his teeth. A woman hushes him in his native tongue.

“Is that Dehqan?” I ask. Balin nods.

Several look at us, frowning and confused by our presence. We ignore the stares, taking our seats behind them. From there, everything is a blur. I barely register what is said during the sermon. I don’t watch the slide show set up beside the closed coffin. Instead, I keep my head down, bent in half at the waist, and staring at the floor with my hands folded in my lap. My mind drifts to thoughts and my thoughts become void, blank wisps of nothing as I solidify in my seat, the only indication that I was human being the rhythmic breath I took every few seconds.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Bofur elbowed me gently, breaking my attempts to become one with the pew. I raise my head, seeing that others are passing by the coffin, some touch the wood, others do not: a tell tale sign of how well Dwalin was known by those here in attendance.

I go last, touching the coffin. It’s cold in my hand. It doesn’t seem right that this is what we become reduced to. A coffin. Or ash.

My chest tightens. It is hard to breath. I follow the crowd, vanishing among black-clad mourners, looking for a place to be alone.

I pause in front of the Pieta, kneeling, gasping for breath. It’s the most private place I can find for now and I rock on the balls of my feet, trying to keep quiet and small and unnoticeable and insignificant.

I’m not here. I’m nowhere.

You don’t know me. You walk away with a frightened glance and no words of comfort. No touch to calm. For that, I am grateful to you. I don’t want to be disturbed—

“Are you all right?”

I look up at the man. Save for a the white collar around his neck, he is dressed entirely in black. His black hair is slicked back behind his ears and he sports a full trim beard. The priest’s gaze seeps into me. Pity. Worry. Curiosity. I stand, trying to regain my composure with shaking hands.

“I’m fine.”

He frowns, lapis lazuli colored eyes flashing. “You are not fine.”

“How I am is not your concern, Father.”

“Perhaps I can help.”

“I don’t _need_ or want your help. You’d not grant it anyway if you knew me.”

His irritation passes. “You don’t know God as well as you think then. He wishes to help all his children.”

I sigh. “I’m _gay_. You’re god wants nothing to do with me. I’m not his child. I came for a funeral. That’s all. Goodbye.”

I pause, glancing behind me.

The father crosses himself, touching his forehead, then his heart, and shoulder to shoulder, staring at the statue. He walks away, back straight and broad shoulders squared. His dark hair gleams a bronze halo in the dim light.

Such a shame he chose to join the clergy.

He’s handsome.

“There you are!” Bofur calls, pulling me back toward the group. “Why’d you run off like that? Balin wants us to go in the limo with him. Says he wants to apologize for something he said to you yesterday…”

“Oh.”

“Bilbo?”                                                                

“Huh? Yes! Yes, let’s go.”

“Are you okay?”

I glare at him. “Do you really need to ask?”

“Sorry. Come on. There’s going to be food.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Quote from Sufi Epigram
> 
> Constructive criticism welcome.


	3. Chapter 3

 

_~The heart heals with the anticipation of meeting another soul~_

_~Greg Popiel~_

I did not expect to run into the priest again. Certainly not here. Unlike the odd, condescending looks that were sent toward me, everyone smiles at him. The old ladies are blushing when he smiles or laughs. (I can’t blame them. He’s undeniably good looking.)

Supposedly, he was the one who led the service. When I asked Balin why he chose him, he seemed confused that I didn’t know the man.

“Father Durin and Dwalin were best friends back in school. Back then, I called him Thorin, of course. To call him by his first name now would be disrespectful. They had a falling out in High School, though I never got the details to why. I guess Thorin wasn’t too pleased when Dwalin came out. Things smoothed out between them after college, but they never went back to being the friends they used to be.”

That explains why I never heard of Thorin—Father Durin—before. When the shittiest events happen, you bury it and you don’t go looking for it. Whatever transpired between them must have been nastier than it was with Dwalin’s family. I’ve had experiences I’d rather forget after coming out that I did the same with: memories so dark you don’t go there. Ever. Dwalin and I agreed that if we wished to unearth them, we’d do so when we were ready to and that we’d be with each other.

It begs the question: even if Balin didn’t know what happened between them and even if their relationship was being patched, would Dwalin have wanted him to lead his funeral service?

Thorin glances in my direction. I expect him to glare or snub me. Instead, he smiles, and nods his head in greeting before entering into a conversation with an elderly man.

Bofur taps my shoulder pushing another plate of cake in front of me. I take it, though I’m not hungry. It’s not that I’m feeling sick still. I just ate more than enough. I pass the cake to Nori, who glares at me. Why should I care if he has one more slice of cake put in front of him? I’m full and he devours sweets as quickly as Bofur’s brother.

I leave the reception, heading to the plot Dwalin was given. The diggers have finished and walked away. I kneel at the foot of the grave, reading the inscription on the tombstone.

_We lived together in happiness. We rest together in peace._

In a way, it’s suitable. Through the years I knew him, we were very happy. Before meeting him, my life had seemed empty or incomplete to a sense. It felt a little easier to bear after I met Dwalin, no longer just going through motions I didn’t know I was going through.

In other ways, it’s kind of a joke. His brother chose the epitaph, and I wonder since when had he and his family been happy with each other after he came out? Had any of them tried to look beyond the fact he was homosexual? And what lies did they have to tell to get him a funeral at a church and a plot at a Christian cemetery? I don’t know whether to feel grateful for the loops they jumped through or angry.

“The guests are preparing to leave.” I stand, turning around. Father Durin’s hands are stuffed in his pockets. “A few were asking about you.”

“I doubt they were happy I was there.”

“Balin explained your presence.”

“Let me guess: just a friend.”

“Actually, he said you were Dwalin’s partner,” he said, glancing at the tombstone. I’m shocked, yet grateful. I wouldn’t have expected Balin to do that. My surprise is noted and Father Durin grins at me. “They don’t know how to approach you or how to act. It’s a delicate situation. And while they know how they’d approach a woman, they aren’t sure what to do.”

“Well, how else would anyone approach a person who lost someone they love?” I snap, crossing my arms. “I’m not an alien, if they had any intention of approaching me at all with half-hearted condolences, they’d have done so already.”

Father Durin nods. “It’s difficult for most of us to accept. We don’t understand and we are afraid of what we do not understand.”

I lift my head, staring at him. He stares at the grave. “Who told you that?” I ask.

He looks at me, blinking. “No one did. It was a personal reflection I’ve lived by my whole life. Why?”

“Dwalin used to say something like that.”

“Not surprising. He was my best friend. We grew up together. Same school, same block…we used to go to the same Parish too. We developed a similar philosophic look, except on one point.” He steps away from the grave, heading back to the funeral home.

My heart sinks and I feel I’ve been dunked in ice as a thought that feels too much like a revelation forms in my head. It’s just a suspicion and it isn’t necessarily true just because I thought of it.

Coming out to friends and family is difficult. Some refuse to dare until they’re able to support themselves and are out of the house for fear of being disowned. Some, like me and Dwalin, were brave enough to do so in High School and we both experienced persecution because of our preferences from our religious relatives.

Dwalin and I both had a Christian upbringing, but I understood his was more rigid, coming from a Catholic family.

Friends are less likely to judge you, but that doesn’t mean they’ll walk away. The closer the friend, the more accepting—but it’s not uncommon to fall in love with a friend. Father Durin doesn’t seem to be the kind to push away his friends for their sexuality. He accepted me well enough and he doesn’t even _know_ me.

So he’d not have pushed Dwalin away (well, maybe. They were still kids when they fell out, after all). But accepting someone is gay is not the same as being told they are in love with you.

_Was he Dwalin’s first love?_

 

#

“Even if he is his first love, why wouldn’t Dwalin tell you about him?” Nori asked, passing out tea cups.

I shrug. “Maybe it was something he didn’t want to talk about.”

“Well, I get shitty moments happen, but even _I_ know about Nori’s first love and he knows about mine. Granted, mine was pretty shitty.”

“True,” I say, “And so was mine. But the two of you have been together nearly twice the time Dwalin and I were. You’re practically married.” Nori scoffed. “You may as well be…even if you don’t want to legalize it.”

Bofur sighs, mixing sugar in his tea. He really _wants_ to be married to Nori and call him his husband. The way his face lit up when Gay Marriage was legalized made everyone’s day (not that our day wasn’t improved), but as long as Nori doesn’t want to be married, there isn’t much Bofur can do. It’s kind of painful to watch knowing they’ve been together for going on ten years now.

I did assure him that if Nori ever changes his mind, it may be him who ends up proposed to just for the sake of Nori seeing the look on Bofur’s face.

And I really hope Nori changes his mind about marriage soon. I don’t know how much longer Bofur will be able to stand waiting for him to shift his views. We’ve all seen good relationships end for reasons less life changing.

I sip my tea, crossing my legs, wishing Dwalin had told me about Father Durin. IT seems like a betrayal that I’m just _now_ finding out about him. Granted, I hadn’t spoken to him about my first love either and my suspicions about the priest may be _way_ off. And if they aren’t, then I really shouldn’t feel as jealous as I do. Whatever happened between them was long ago…probably so long ago that it’s ancient history.

I finish my tea, bidding goodnight to Nori and Bofur as I go to bed, trying to ignore my irrational jealousy toward someone who hadn’t been in Dwalin’s life since their high school days. A relationship that ended two decades ago isn’t something to worry over.

So why was I so nervous? Balin did mention that they renewed their friendship in recent years, but it never went back to how it used to be.

So _why_?

I sigh, laying on my back and staring at the cream-white ceiling, thinking. I turn onto my side. I’m not keen on the idea of going to church, but maybe _after_ the service I can talk to Durin, see if I can find answers about the past he shared with Dwalin. It won’t seem too off, I think. He’ll think I just want to know about his past with Dwalin, given we both cared for him.

My stomach churns. I don’t know if I can go back into the church. I technically can. No one will stop me. But will I be able to face the ridicule that may be sent my way if I’m caught by someone who knows who I am (not Durin, but perhaps one of Dwalin’s relatives).

It’s an uncomfortable feeling all around.

_But…answers…_

Internal conflicts suck. That’s all I have to say about this. I don’t know when I fall asleep, but when I do I have dreams of walking into a church and being yelled at. By a Pokémon.

 

#

“You look nervous,” Father Durin points out, opening his office door to me.

“I feel nauseas actually,” I correct. My stomach is doing somersaults and I’m really cold and no matter how I tried to calm myself, I’m pasty. Thankfully I’m not sweating. That could make things more awkward than I really need it to be.

“Would you like some water? I could go to the kitchen if you like…there should still be some saltines—”

“Thanks, but I’ll live. It’s just…I haven’t stepped in a church _willingly_ for a few years unless it was for a specific event.”

“Like a funeral, holiday, or wedding?” I nod. “May I ask why you decided to change now?”

I shrug. “I was wondering about your relationship with Dwalin.”

“Ah. May I ask why? We hadn’t actually had a conversation that really meant anything since high school.”

“That’s sort of why,” I say. “He never mentioned you to me.”

“I’m not surprised. We discovered our sexuality around the same time. Like you and Dwalin, I’m gay. But I had decided a long time ago to join the priesthood, so my sexuality didn’t really matter and it wouldn’t matter if I came out. I _had_ to opt for celibacy regardless of my sexuality if I wanted to be a priest.”

I stare at him, blinking. I really hadn’t heard anything beyond his confession. “Wait, back up, you’re gay?”

“Is that really surprising?”

“You’re a _priest_!”

“So my choice in profession should dictate my sexuality or lack thereof? A majority of priests are actually straight and they also chose to be celibate. Why would it make me any different? Celibacy is a choice even if our sexuality is not.”

Well, I can agree with that, not that I understand why anyone _would_ choose to be celibate. “I guess your family’s proud that you chose this life?”

“A lot of the parishioners believe so, even though not everyone knows my preferences. I merely don’t act on them. I already chose to join the clergy when I discovered my sexuality, so I actually didn’t see the point in telling my family anything. Dwalin came to terms with his sexuality before I did and he admitted he liked me as more than a friend.”

 _So he_ is _Dwalin’s first love._

“I pushed him away and had been needlessly cruel. I regret the way I acted, but I was a teenager and I was scared. I had to forgive myself for pushing my best friend away, but I’m not wholly certain Dwalin was able to forgive me. Even if we did find it in our hearts to reconcile, it wouldn’t change anything.”

“No,” I agree, “It wouldn’t.” I shift in my seat. “So…do you think all gays should be celibate instead?”

He shrugged.

“It’s ultimately a choice. I can’t speak on behalf of my peers. Many would say so, but they fail to see that if they were say that, then would it not be true that all heterosexuals be celibate? Many chose to have sex before marriage, also something the church preaches against. But to ask homosexuals to be celibate, we’d have to request the same of heterosexuals. Many fail to notice that, arguing that the only pure relationship is a heterosexual one—and all who claim that have never been in a situation where they would have question what they believe or how they view the world. They argue for events in the Bible where homosexuality is supposedly bashed.”

My knotted stomach is loosening and I feel less like I’m in the presence of a pastor. Durin rubs the back of his neck.

“However, since I questioned my sexuality and came to terms with being gay, it had been a topic of certain interest I’ve had on social and philosophical levels. I’m gay, but I am also a Catholic Christian and I’ve always felt called to the priesthood. I’m not the only gay man you’ll come across who is Christian and depending on how they think of their sexuality they’ll deal with it accordingly. Some chose celibacy and others decide they aren’t going to let the views of their Christian peers hinder their happiness. So many end up leaving the church while still believing in what the Christian belief stands for.”

“What exactly do you believe, then?”

“I believe that God paid a price far too high for us to condemn anyone and one’s sexuality is such a small part of who they are and it may very well be a part that is out of a person’s control, such as the gender we’re born as or the people who become our parents or our hair and eye color. All of which is out of our control. But what really shapes us is what we can control, not what we can’t. Sexuality is complex. But that doesn’t change that God loves everyone so personally that he chose to die for us to save us from sin and death and hence conquered the grave.”

“The resurrection. I know it.”

“Most who have come to me asking the same questions have been confused by the resurrection. You know of it?”

I nod. “My father was a protestant pastor. All what you’ve said makes sense to me. I understand it.”

“But you don’t believe.”

I nod again. “How can I? My own father can’t stand the sight of me. Reunions have been torture since coming out.”

It’s something I’m so used to by now that I don’t let it bother me (even though it really does). But _must_ Durin look at me with pity? I wasn’t looking to be commiserated. It just…spilled out of my mouth. He looks as though he wants to say something, but opts for silence. Clearly there is nothing to be said that can make the situation ever change and he knows it.

Time to go. I stand. “Thank you for seeing me. I won’t take more of your time.”

“Feel free to come back if you like.” He stands as well, holding his hand out to me. I shake it, laughing at myself. Who’d have thought I’d actually _dare_ have a polite—a real, genuine, _polite_ —conversation with a priest since coming out?

 

_~~ Six ~ Months ~ Later ~~_

_~ March 24 th, 2014 ~_

April either decided to come early or lost its sense of time because it really shouldn’t be pouring this hard outside. I watch the water drip down the window, a drumbeat around me. Turning my attention back to the computer, I drum my nails against the desk trying to come up with a descent topic to write for an essay I want to submit.

Sighing, I give up for now. I’m still making money off the last book of poems I wrote and the fiction short I wrote won third place in a contest (hardly a lot of money but even a little counts for something).

The last letter I got from Dehqan was written in his own hand and mailed with something a more legible from Balin. He’s adjusting well at his new school, and his English is near flawless now (a child’s learning curve is phenomenal).

I decide to go get an espresso. Walking and a cup of java should clear my head long enough to come up with an idea of what to write for the essay. Satisfied with this plan, I abandon my computer and grab my coat and boots. I pull the hood up over my head on exiting the apartment.

The black, wet streets show nearly no sign of winter’s print apart from a couple splotches of slush on the corners of pavement were the cold is still unbearable. I shiver, zipping up my jacket before braving to cross the street, flipping off a taxi driver who hadn’t seen me and nearly hit me in his hurry. Some people don’t understand the rules of the road.

Safely on the other side, I enter the shop. Catching Cindy’s wave, I smile back, soaking in the shop’s warmth before getting in line, thinking about what I’d like to drink. Latte, mocha, or Americano? Or should I get a regular black and add sugar and cream to it? Coffee isn’t something to take lightly.

I’m still thinking about the kind of coffee I’d like to get when I finally get in line, picking dirt from under my fingernails. The line moves slowly forward. I tug lightly at the gold chain around my neck. _I think I’ll get a latte,_ I finally decide, letting the chain go and stuffing my hand in my back pocket for my wallet.

I order, pay, wait, get the drink, and leave with another nod at Cindy. Crossing the street is less dramatic the second time. But it seems God has a sense of humor because as soon as I turn toward my apartment, I bump into a body and coffee goes flying.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I say shaking coffee off my hands. My coat is waterproof, so it just rolls off the black fabric. “You?”

“I’m fine…do I know you?”

I blink, furrowing my brow. I don’t know any…wait. _Fuck my life_.

Father Durin’s eyes light with recognition. Now does he remember my name…did I ever tell him my name though I know his? “Weren’t you Dwalin’s partner?” My heart feels like it’s been squeezed. It’s getting easier, I’ll admit, but I’m still wondering how I’m getting through each day since the funeral. I nod. “Forgive me, but I don’t quite recall your name.”

“I never gave it. It’s Bilbo.”

There’s something different about him and I’m not sure what…I know it’s been six months about since I saw him last, so some things may change, but something just seems off.

He’s not dressed in the black garb priests usually wear. I thought they wore the collar daily, but he’s dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, covered by a khaki trench coat, staining with my coffee.

And if it stays like that, the stain might not come out. It may not be wine, but there’s really only so much a coat can take. I sigh, preparing myself for the awkwardness sure to follow. “Your coat…”

“Its fine,” he tries to wave me off.

“It’d be easier to wash it at my place rather than wait at the Laundromat,” I reason. “And the church is a long ways from this part of town. It’s the least I can d after running into you.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude. Besides, I ran into you.”

“You’re not. I’m offering. And I’d rather not argue about who’s at fault more. Let’s just agree we both weren’t looking where we were going.”

“All right, I suppose that’s fair.”

He followed me to my apartment and I take his coat from him, throwing the damp clothing in the wash. I return to the living room to find him looking at photos mounted on the wall. It’s mostly me, Dwalin and my roommates at various outings.

(I am not ashamed to admit that there was a photo of a pie eating contest. The four of us entered against Bofur’s brother Bombur three years ago. We lost to him, but it was a good loss and completely worth the time I spent vomiting in the bathroom afterwards.)

“Make yourself at home,” I offer. “Would you like coffee? Or something to eat? Or would you like a beer?”

“Coffee would be nice, thanks,” he said, moving to another photo (of me and Dwalin at a Christmas party at the New York Times office a few months after we met. He had a Mohawk then). I go to make the coffee, wondering why he’s wearing every day clothes. I decide it wouldn’t hurt to ask, so I do and he laughs.

“You really expect me to wear the collar all the time?” he asked. “True, I wear it often, but sometimes it’s nice to mix it up and wear something with more variety.”

“Understandable…”

“But you’re wondering what that has to say about poverty vows?”

“Yes.”

“These are from before I took my vows. No one’s noticed that they’re fifteen years old.” I admire his ability to admit he’s wearing fifteen year old clothes. And a little jealous he manages to still look good in them. _Really,_ I think, _HOW?!_ I wouldn’t have guessed he was wearing decade and a half old clothes. They’re still in rather good condition.

“So it’s not that you lost your priesthood.” Wait…does that sound dirty? It didn’t sound dirty in my head.

“Nope,” he said, thankfully not noticing, or choosing not to comment. “Still ordained.” I go back into the kitchen to check the coffee. I take two mugs out and pour coffee in both.

“How do you take it? Black or with sugar and or cream?”

“Black.”

I add sugar and cream to mine before handing him the mug. I’m starting to regret using the collectable Star Wars mugs Nori brought with him when we met in our Freshman year. True, we bonded over them simply by being nerdy, but I we rarely lend them to guests.

Not that we _can’t_. It’s just that most people who know us don’t see us as a group of nerds who like to be nerds. We work hard to maintain a…well, “bad boy” image…even now. Nori and Bofur are better at it than I am, to be honest. So if I act nerdy, I can get away with it and possibly live.

(We have a large collection of collectable mugs gathered over the years. Star Wars, Star Trek, Dr. Who, Supernatural, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Angel…an entourage of anime themed mugs. I was not kidding about being a nerd….I take it back. There are worse mugs I could have offered.)

Durin grins. “You’re a fan?”

“My roommates are bigger fans, but yeah.” He sits down, drinking the contents within the cup. I really don’t know how to handle this awkward silence between us. I figured he’d say something about Star Wars, but apparently he’s not as big a fan as me and my roommates.

“How have you been?”

I glance up from staring at the contents of my cup. “Pardon?”

“How have you been since the funeral? You seem better, but one can never fully tell.”

“Oh,” I cross my legs under me, drinking my coffee to buy time. “Fine, I suppose. It’s been a more…day by day process.”

He hums. “Isn’t it always? I’ve counseled several who have lost a loved one and even then, there’s only so much that can be done. It’s tragic when someone loses their life. Tragic still when they decide they don’t have the strength to continue. You’re quite strong in the face of everything you go through.”

“I don’t go to counseling,” I admit.

“Why not? Many find talking therapeutic.”

“I write about it. That’s my therapy. Nothing ready for the public eye, but in a few years I may be able to publish what I’ve written.”

“You’re stronger than I thought.”

I avert my eyes, trying to ignore the heat rising to my face.

“Thanks,” I mumble into my cup because I really don’t know what else to say to that. The washer beeps. Ah, mercy has come! I escape to put the coat in the dryer, buying a little time to regain my composure and come up with something else to talk about. Anything but how I’m coping with Dwalin’s death.

Anything but that.

Durin is wrong. I’m not strong; I’m just barely holding myself together and I don’t know how I’m doing even that. I return to the living room, sitting down again. My coffee is cooling in my hand, having lost its heat as I neglect to drink it.

He says nothing else to me, empty cup resting on the table before me. I shift my gaze to look at him. I’m surprised by the sorrow in his face. For what reason has he to be sad?

And I remind myself: even if he and Dwalin fell out, he still thought of Dwalin as a friend. To him, as long as Dwalin was alive, there was a chance of reconciling with him. But that chance had been taken from him. It makes me wonder…

What would I do if I’m never able to come to some common ground with my father? How would I take it if he died never understanding me or trying to tolerate at the very least so that we can be civil? What would he do if I died—not that I expect to die any time soon—and we never managed to get past my preference in a partner?

“I suppose it wouldn’t really hurt,” I say. Durin glances at me. “Talking about it…if you’d like. I’ve no intention of stepping into a church, but if you’d like to meet outside it…”

I feel like a balloon inflated inside me, knowing that the relief and joy appearing on his face was brought there by me.

“Of course,” he said. We set up a time and a place to meet at the end of the week, exchanging numbers just before the dyer beeps.

I return his coat to him, trading it for the empty mug and bid him goodbye.


	4. Chapter 4

“Blew up the science lab?” I repeated.

“It was fourth grade and we _technically_ didn’t blow anything up,” Thorin corrected, “Dwalin added too much of something and the beaker spilled over.”

“But your teacher was still mad enough to kick you both out of class and had to replace the table.”

“It…may or may not have been acidic. I don’t really remember. Dwalin didn’t tell you about that?”

“He did,” I admitted, “but it’s interesting to hear it from someone else’s perspective.” I leave out that he didn’t quite mention Thorin. He said it was a lab partner. (I suppose that in of itself is telling about how angry Dwalin was with Thorin.)

“How’d you two meet?”

I feel a little heat warm my cheeks. “Oh, God,” I laugh, buying time by drinking my cappuccino. “Bar,” I begin. “My friends and I went drinking after finally graduating college and went to celebrate with cheap booze. Next thing I know, this _behemoth_ of a man is coming toward me and my friends had abandoned me to go make out or shag or something. So I admit I was freaking out a bit, but instead of taking a swing, he asks if he can buy me a drink, stuttering the whole time. Only reason I let him buy me the first drink was due to fear and a little shock. I wasn’t exactly expecting to trade phone numbers after that or date him. Now I think it was cute.”

“Cute isn’t the first word that comes to mind when I remember him.”

“Well, no,” I agree. “But it was cute nevertheless. You and Dwalin knew each other since you were in diapers though, right?”

“Actually no. My family moved onto his block when I was in kindergarten. My mom and his set up a play date and I was still young enough to think an appropriate hello was to throw mud at other kids. Most would start crying or get a parent.”

I scoff. “Little shits.” I really should watch what I say now that I think about it…

Thorin shrugged. “Well, I suppose it depends on your point of view. Either way, Dwalin was perhaps the first kid who, instead of crying or telling on me, tackled me to the ground and rubbed my face in the mud back. We ended up having an hour long mud war before our mothers intervened. We were friends ever since.”

“Who won?”

“We called it a draw and never got around to settling it. Our parents watched us like hawks since. We had to find other ways to compete against each other.”

I snort. “I can believe that.”

Thorin crosses his arms, leaning back in his seat. A smirk tugs at his mouth. “You seem sarcastic.”

“No, I believe you. Really. Why would I suspect a priest for lying?”

“You’re under the impression that my career means that I’m above sin.”

“Well, that’s the insinuation the world has, but I know it’s not true. Just because someone feels called to work in the clergy doesn’t mean they’re better than anyone else. They’re expected to be, but it means nothing. So while you are certainly capable of lying, it’d be disappointing if you did.”

“Sure, sure.”

_Now who’s being sarcastic?_

“What was your favorite outing or date?”

Oh…huh. I drum my fingers against the table. "We flew to Milwaukee for an AC DC concert. Stayed the entire week just for the concert.”

“Damn…same tour, but back in 2008 when they played in New York.”

I am genuinely surprised. And a tad impressed. “You’re an AC DC fan?”

“You really find that hard to believe?”

“I suppose not…it’s just not expected from a man of the collar.”

“So I shouldn’t like good music?”

I fee sheepish and a tad ashamed for jumping to conclusions. Many have done the same to me when I told them I was gay. “I stand corrected.”

“Good to know.”

His phone rang—alerting us that it was time to say goodbye until next time. Huh. I didn’t realize time had passed so quickly! I bid him goodbye and head home.

I protect myself from the rain with an umbrella raised over my head. The sounds of cars and police sirens attack my ears and the rain drenches my jeans which soak it all up like a sponge. I suppose things could be worse than wet jeans. These…meetings, I suppose I could call them…aren’t too bad.  I look forward to them more than I expected I would.

On returning to the apartment, I slam the door closed, shutting my eyes and grinding my teeth. “Of all the fucking things to do…” I mutter. “You have a room, guys!” I shout at Bofur and Nori.

“Don’t be a jackass,” Nori shot.

“Can I come in now or am I gonna have to go find Thorin and ask him to exorcise my eyes?”

“Too late, the mood’s ruined,” Bofur groaned.

“Damn it, Bilbo!”

I should feel bad, but I’ll give myself cockblock points anyway. I feel oddly pleased with myself. “Still don’t know if all parts that ought to be covered are covered.”

“It’s safe.”

I enter, trying not to laugh or mock or in any way make them more annoyed with me. I pass through the awkward atmosphere to my room to change into something that’s actually dry.

“Where were you anyway?” Bofur asked.

“The more pressing question is why the hell are you two home?” I snap. “And what the fuck were you two thinking having nookie on the couch? Guys. Really? People like to sit on that thing! It is not for sexy times!”

At least the awkward mood lifts through the rant. Bofur and Nori are laughing by the time I’m done. I don’t think it’s particularly funny.”

“Fine. You want to mess around on the couch, put it in your room and we’ll get a new one.”

Nori rolls his eyes. “As if you’re one to talk.”

“I am,” I snap. “I’ve never been banged nor did any banging on the couch…at least not that one.” Damn it. “Goodbye.” I turn away from them, deciding to go hide in my room.

“Bilbo, really.  Where were you?”

I turn to look at them again. “I was with Thorin.”

“Another coffee date,” Nori summarized. “This is the third one. You may as well move to the next step and officially ask him to dinner.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Right,” Bofur muttered. Pouring himself a glass of water. “The denial act was cute in high school, Bilbo.”

“What?”

“How many times have you met the guy for _coffee_ now? Three? Four?”

“Three. Why—guys, it’s just coffee. Literally just coffee. He’s a priest. Nothing can or will happen just because we’ve met a few times.”

“Right. Nothing can or will happen because he’s a priest.”

“Ha! Some priests do give up their priesthood so to be with someone they fall in love with.”

“ _There is nothing going on_!” I growl.

“So you’re _not_ considering corrupting a priest?” Nori asked.

“Or in any way wanting to be in a new relationship? Specifically with the priest?” Bofur adds.

“ _No_.”

“Wow. I wonder what he’d say about you lying.”

“Dude, you’re smitten. I haven’t seen you like this since you started dating Dwalin.”

“Acting like you’re on cloud nine.”

“Goofy smile.”

“Blushing at any mention of the guy.”

“Almost hearing the Sound of Music soundtrack.”

“Really?”

“I hear it whenever he gets like this.”

“ _Really_?”

“I feel pretty,” Nori sang. I pick up a pillow, aiming for Nori’s head. “Oh so pretty—ow!”

I glare at them. “There is _nothing_ romantic about meeting Thorin.”

“Do you like meeting him?”

“Yes, but I fail to see the connection.”

They exchange looks. Oh God. What are they going to do next?”

“Bilbo,” Bofur grabs my shoulders. “I know you’re not dense. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out. You’re in love with a priest.”

My heart does _not_ skip a beat. “No. I’m not.” Nor does it feel like it’s squeezed at the denial.

“Bilbo, we’ve known you a long time,” Nori said. “We know you well enough to guess when you’re in love. You’re just steps away from cheesy poetry.”

“My poetry is _not_ cheesy.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Look, even if I am falling in love with him, it’s pointless. He’s a priest and he’s dedicated to his job. He’s _not_ going to give it up if I tell him I’m in love with him.”

“So you’re just going to give up?”

I shake my head. “There’s nothing wrong with just being friends.” Yeah. My heart doesn’t feel like it’s being crushed. I smile. “Just no more sex on the couch. Okay?”

“Fine. Hypocrite.”

I ignore them, entering my room and change out of my wet clothes. Dry clothes feel so much nicer.  Don’t they?

I sit at my computer, tearing my thoughts away from any ideas of brooding.

What would be any point in falling in love with Thorin? None! There is nothing in that relationship that I see beyond heartbreak.

No. I’m not going to go down that road. No matter how much I know I want to.

#

I let Bofur and Nori have the place tonight. I need to clear my thoughts and sweep what I’m feeling under some rug. Gin maybe. Or Scotch. Something I can drink and I know will numb me—so I can forget.

The city is alight in street light, car beams, and neon signs. The streets are black and its wet covering glows as the moon on water. I arrive at the Greenwich Treehouse (our usual haunt), and sit at the bar, ordering the house whiskey, half listening to conversations around me.

A couple behind me is arguing in hushed whispers. The woman is crying and the man rubs the back of his neck. A break up going bad?

A man on the other side of the booth looks rather down, slumped in his seat…probably just lost his job today. A glimmer on his finger tells me he’s married and he’s probably hoping some liquid courage will help him tell his partner. He’s an older gent, and he keeps flipping with his phone: open, close. Open, close.

The bartender, a man in his forties and balding, is stocking his wares. Glasses for wine, whiskey, beer, and shots are systematically cleaned. The wall is lined with various brews and bottles.

It’s loud with music, but relatively quiet tonight. Anyone else is who might be here is out of hearing and visual range.

And I came here not to think. And yet, thinking is the only other thing I can do while I drink. Mostly about Thorin and how I could even _think_ it would be okay to fall in love with him. A person can’t get any more unavailable than by joining the Catholic clergy. I don’t understand why I feel this way for him.

 _And yet you know for a fact that being a man of God does not hinder many others from falling in love_ , I thought. It makes me pause a moment, though it really shouldn’t. I know this for a fact. My _father_ is such a person. Men who dedicate their lives to God do marry and have children of their own. Often those children find themselves moving around to accommodate for their father’s work. Some find themselves rooted permanently in one place.

I had the experience of both moving around constantly and staying in one place later in life. My father decided to settle in Albany and that was where I spent High School. Where I discovered my sexuality and fell in love with a guy.

It was also in High School where I came out in my Junior year.

Is my past always going to haunt me? I pay for the two drinks I had and leave, suddenly feel like I should just go someplace where I can actually be _numb_. There might be an interesting movie out (I hope).

“You got a lighter?” I turn around. The man grins, holding his lighter up for me to see. An unlit cigarette is pinned between his teeth. “Mine’s dead.”

“Sorry. I don’t smoke.”

Not for years. Not since the intervention. Apparently, nicotine counts as one of the drugs I’m not allowed to touch. Too close to pot or something that shitty.

With that, I turn away from him and walk down the street.

A part of me thinks I should go home, but I’m not quite ready to. I’d rather roam the streets, find a movie theater, and turn into a zombie for a bit. (Or find someone to hook up with for the night. I’m not too picky so long as I _forget_ that my emotions are trying to drag me into a special place in hell—the one for people who want to seduce celibate clergy members…)

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

“Hello?”

“ _Bilbo?_ ”

I stop, half frozen where I stand on the sidewalk. A police car passes by me, sirens whirring and lights flashing. “Dad?” I step aside toward the buildings, leaning against the wall as people walk past me. “What’s going on? You don’t call unless there’s something important.”

 _Really_ important. We usually try to avoid talking to each other if at all.

“ _Your mother’s in the hospital_.” Now I feel I’ve been doused in nitrogen. “ _She had a stroke half an hour ago. I’m heading to the hospital right now._ ”

“Which hospital?” Silence. “Dad!”

“ _Lennox Hill Hospital_.”

I flag a taxi. “What happened?”

“ _We were going to meet and have dinner,_ ” he began. “ _Talk about what to do about the divorce—_ ”

“Divorce?” I repeat.

I know they’ve had problems since I came out. Their opposing views about my sexuality had sparked only God knows how many arguments between them and I knew they had separated. I hadn’t any idea things had been progressing that badly. I probably should have guessed it  could, but I suppose I was locked in a cocoon of denial.

I shake it out of my head. “We’ll talk about that when I get there. Okay Dad? You were going to meet and then…what? She didn’t show?”

 “ _I went to pick her up. She was sitting in her chair…had difficulty breathing, a bad headache, said she felt pain all over…I panicked and called an ambulance_.”

Mom is one of the healthiest people I know. How could she just get a fucking stroke? She’s barely sixty! It doesn’t make sense.

I focus on breathing steady. Hyperventilating in the back of a taxi will not help my situation. I kneel forward, placing my head between my knees. My elbows rest on my thighs and my fingers curl over the backs of my hands, locking the two fists together.

“Please don’t let her die,” I whisper. “Please.”

Half an hour later, I arrive at the hospital, all but throwing the cab fare at the driver’s face. Dad is waiting in the lobby, pacing around.

“Bilbo!”

I approach him. “How is she?”

“She’s in the ICU.”

I sigh, collapsing in a seat. I ignore his gaze and he doesn’t try to get me to look at him.

“She’ll be fine,” Dad mumbles awkwardly. “She’s always fine.”

It doesn’t change that neither of us expected her to get a stroke. Mom’s always been crazy on the go and oddly healthy. It makes no sense that this would happen.

“You look like you could use a drink. How about some coffee?”

“Dad, don’t bother.”

“Are you really going to start with me when your mom’s—”

“I don’t start anything,” I snap. “I’m not the one who pushed you away, Dad. You don’t want to talk to me. And I’m okay with that. I’m not going to fill my life with people who judge me for being myself because you and your ‘flock’ are narrow minded pariahs who think your interpretation of the Bible is correct when it’s _not_.”

“The only reason I _don’t_ call you is because _this_ is the result. _Every_ time I say something, you think I’m judging you.”

“You always have! Why change now? I’ve always embarrassed you! First, I question religion. Sorry for wanting to be thorough! Then I come out! I can’t control that! Then I reject the Bible and the Church because I couldn’t handle the way everyone looked at me as though I had become some sort of monster in their eyes! To them and to you, I wasn’t even human anymore—”

“For God’s sake! Must you be so selfish?”

Every ion within me is ablaze and my vision is tinted red.

Selfish? _I’m selfish_?! How is thinking progressively selfish? How is making decisions of my own selfish? How is deciding to be honest with myself and others _selfish_?!

I can’t be in the same room as the man right now. If I were to stay another minute, I don’t know what I’d do. So I leave. I head outside and lean against the wall. And I try not to cry because I knew that this would be the result.

Every fucking time the wall that’s built between my father and me tries to come crumbling down from the bottom, a new layer of fresh mortar and brick is added to the top and it never ends.

I crouch, trying to be insignificant.

“Bilbo?” A hand touches my shoulder. My head snaps up. “Are you all right?” Thorin asks. “What are you doing here so late?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” I say, standing. I bite my lip. “Mom had a stroke about an hour or two ago. She was still in the ICU when I got here…just ten or twenty minutes ago…I think.”

“Then why are you outside?”

“My father’s here. We fought. Again. I needed to get out and calm down or else I probably would have…I just…sometimes I think I could _kill_ the man. I won’t. I’m not that stupid, but…”

I should stop talking. So I do, lowering my eyes to the ground.

“A parishioner of mine has— _had_ cancer,” Thorin said. “She passed away just an hour ago. I was here delivering her final rites.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“She’s at peace now,” Thorin said. “That’s what matters. I know you’re not religious, but if you’d like I’ll pray for your mother.”

Usually I’d feel upset or angry by that, even though I know when it’s offered it’s not in spite. But right now, it’s a comfort in a way. I can’t quite explain it.

I shake my head. “My father and his church will be praying.”

“There can never be enough prayers on behalf of a suffering person.”

I shrug. “I doubt my saying ‘no’ is going to stop you,” I mumble. “So I don’t really care if you decide to pray for her or not. But thanks for offering.”

“I’ll keep her in my prayers. In private, since you’re uncomfortable with it.”

I manage a small smile. That is more comfortable for me. “Thanks,” I say.

“You look like you could use a drink. There’s a…well, half decent coffee shop across the street which is still open at ten.”

“You’ve been here often, then?”

“I actually worked at the chapel here after I was ordained. It was either the sludge here or something that actually tastes like coffee.”

I snort, following him across the street. “Fancy tastes for a priest.”

“The Bible never said anything about not enjoying good java. Why sacrifice good taste?”

“Amen to that!”

We get in line at the outdoor coffee shop, standing beside Thorin. So strange how someone could, without any effort, calm me down enough to get coffee with him late at night across the street from the hospital we were both at tonight.

I left the apartment to try and wash away any thought to falling in love with Thorin.

“Two triple Red Eyes,” Thorin ordered, reaching for his pocket.

“Dude, no,” I snap, stopping him. “You paid last time. This one’s on me.”

His look is incredulous. I don’t really know why. “Really?”

I’m already handing a ten dollar bill to the barista. I smirk at him and the drinks are set before us. We head back toward the hospital.

“You didn’t need to do that.”

“What? Buy the coffee?”

“I offered.”

“And you paid the last time earlier today. Just because I work from home publishing stuff via blog and charging my readers by the page doesn’t mean I’m barely making ends meet! I can spare ten bucks for a coffee runs.”

“I hadn’t known I was insulting you in offering to buy coffee.”

“It was very subtle—and if you call that an insult, you’re sadly mistaken, Father.”

Thorin shrugs. “I never aim to be insulting.”

I grin. “No one should.”

And that is the end of that conversation.

I sip coffee to buy time between the awkward shift in topics, watching him (and hoping he doesn’t notice me staring).

His skin is pale and clear. Smooth as marble. It crinkles around his eyes when he smiles. His cheeks are defined by finely chiseled bones angled at a 135 degree angle from the flesh where the ear meets to the edge where the bone ends and down barely touching the corner of his mouth.

His baby blue eyes are bright, shining with intelligence and understanding as deep and vast as the Atlantic Ocean. His eyes show his mind and there is no judgment like I’m used to. Only acceptance and a sort of kindness I don’t know if I’ll ever understand. His nose is a straight slope like a hill or a mountain, coming to a sharp point at the edge curving inward.  

His hair is neat and trim. It seems soft to my eyes and my fingers itch to discover if it’s as soft as I think. When light reflects on his hair at a certain angle, it creates a halo around his head—I can’t help comparing it to a saintly crown.

His lips are slightly chapped, making them appear less pink and closer to red. It is a color equivalent to that of a red apple or a pomegranate. The edges and curves of his mouth stand out against his pale skin and black hair. I find myself biting my lip, wondering what it’d feel like to kiss those lips…

My God, he is gorgeous!

“Would you like me to go in with you?”

I blink, snapping out of my reverie. “Huh?”

“Would you like me to go in with you? Or do you think you can handle your father on your own?”

“Oh.” I blush. Stared to long. He doesn’t seem to have noticed. “We’ll be fine so long as we don’t talk to each other. That’s as close to civil as we’ll be able to get.”

“All right.” He holds his hand out to me. I shake it. His hands are a bit larger than mine and much firmer. “I’ll see you next week.”

“Right.” _Damn it, I sound breathless!_ I smile. “Same place and time?”

“Of course.”

“See you then.”

He climbed into a car which I guess is his and he drives off. I lean against the fence.

I am so fucked.


	5. Chapter 5

I spend as many hours as I can spare at the hospital. I took time in the afternoon to visit Mom. Dad was going in the morning. We managed to make it work. Or at least I did.

I don’t know if Dad is even aware that I’m coming. I manage, somehow, to avoid crossing paths with him when I visit Mom. He may see me, but he does me the courtesy of leaving me alone. If he doesn’t, then he doesn’t bother me.

Other than that her motor functions aren’t cooperating with her and she’s yet to speak again, the doctors are confident that she’ll regain her strength and be able to do most of what she used to, so long as she keeps her blood pressure at an optimum level. They predict she may be able to leave the hospital earlier than expected.

I read to her. The newspaper, usually, and some cheap romance novels. As much as I don’t get why she likes these drug store paperbacks, it’s what she likes, so I read them to her. (Some of these books are bodice rippers and I can’t help fumbling through them. There’s mirth in Mom’s eyes when I get through them at least, so one of us is enjoying ourselves. Knowing her, it’s probably due to how uncomfortable I feel reading these aloud to her.)

Other times, I read her what I’ve been writing so far.

Other times I’m talking to her, telling her about my day so far or about a certain article I’m working on for my blog.

When I’m not reading or talking to her, I spend time working on whatever project I happen to have at the moment. Whether it’s a short story or two, my poetry, or an article for my blog, I work on it.

It is very rare that I end up staying until the end of visiting hours. Often it’s an hour or two at the minimum before something pulls me away: an event I had already promised to attend to get coverage for my blog. Mostly it’s to go home and cook dinner for my whiny children.

(Perhaps I shouldn’t address Nori and Bofur as my children. They’re both older than me by a few months. I blame their immaturity.)

As of today, she’s been in the hospital for five days and I managed for a second time to be able to stay until the end of visiting hours. I pack my things, slinging my backpack over my shoulder and kiss her forehead.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Mom.” I squeeze her hand and follow the nurse out of the room.

“It’s nice to see a son so attentive to his parents for once,” a middle aged nurse whispered to another, glancing in my direction.

I fight the urge to shiver. It’s uncomfortable how they seem to coo over me. I feel I should be carrying mace with me to ward off unwanted attention from cougars.

(I mentally note _never_ to tell Bofur and Nori this. They’ll just mock me.)

The subway is jam packed tonight. People bump into each other and it seems that, rather than the car emptying, it only gets fuller and I start to feel a tad claustrophobic. I can’t shake the sensation of being watched. My eyes shift from face to face nervously, trying to pinpoint a recognizable silhouette.

When I step off, wrapped in cool, night air washed clean with rain, I start feeling better. Even so, the feeling I’m being watched does not disappear and I still find myself looking over my shoulder. I see no one, so I keep going.

I’ve no intention of leading anyone to my apartment, so I don’t walk in that direction.

Just not yet.

I stop to get some coffee.

I backtrack in the opposite direction and wander where there are less people. I turn right and lean against a divot in the wall, leading to a pawn shop that is closed for the night, drinking my coffee.

Someone turns the corner, looking about. I drop the empty cup, grabbing the bastard and slamming him against the wall.

“Why are you following me?”

He’s taller than me by about a foot at least (I’m not midget, but I’m still below average. A foot above me is not a hard feat) and has muscles the size of soccer balls. His hair is black and wiry. Dark eyes stare at me.

The only reason I managed to pin him, I conclude, was that I took him off guard.

With a sort of ease I didn’t expect, he shoves me off him and runs off down the street.

_What the hell was that?_

#

I enter the apartment and go to my room, setting my backpack down and sit on my bed. I’m tired, but there’s no way I’m going to sleep tonight. My hands shake, and I don’t think it’s from the caffeine.

My mind keeps going to who that man was. He didn’t seem to be someone I knew, yet since seeing him, I wondered whether I did know him once before.

He’s not Dwalin. I’d have recognized him if he was. (And given how I feel for Thorin now…that would be awkward.) He’s slightly taller and burlier. His skin was a bit darker.

I take my shoes off, deciding there isn’t really much reason for me to not sleep. The man ran off. I doubt he knows where I live (I _hope_ ). I get ready for bed and fall asleep.

The rest of my night is plagued by weird dreams and confusing nightmares and I wake feeling I had not slept at all.

More confusing than the dreams (which I cannot recall for my life) is the hard on I wake up to find. I turn onto my back, biting my lip.

My first thought is after my brain decides to start working is: _I’m seeing Thorin today_.

I close my eyes again and my legs spread a little wider. My cock throbs, tented against my pants and demands my immediate attention.

 _In love with him or not, I am **not** going to jerk off thinking about a **priest**_ , I snap at myself tucking my hands under my pillow.

He won’t get out of my head. I see him each time I close my eyes. When I think of my darkest fantasies, he’s there, fulfilling each wish.

I groan, opening my eyes and sitting up.

 _I’ll go take a shower_ , I decide, walking stiffly to the bathroom. _A cold one_.

I shudder beneath the chilled water, watching my skin turn red from the cold and develop bumps as I go through my normal routine. My teeth chatter as I grow from cold to numb.

Hard on averted, I turn the water off and wrap my towel around me as though it were a very warm blanket, drying off and dressing with shaking hands. I warm myself up using a hairdryer. Just for the sake of _not_ shivering so badly.

“You feeling okay?” Bofur asked.

“Yeah,” I assure him. “I’m fine. See you tonight.”

“Tell your mom I said hi.”

“Will do.” I grab my backpack, tie my boots, and pull my coat before leaving. “Bye.”

The day is actually sunny. Blue skies, no clouds, sunshine…

It’s too fucking bright and I wish I had the time to go back and get my sunglasses. To do so would mean to risk being late.

Let’s face it: it’s rude.

So I shade my eyes with my hand so to see better before crossing the street to the coffee shop I meet Thorin at. He’s already in line, hands stuffed in his pockets. I call to him, perhaps smiling a little more than I ought to.

He returns my smile, though perhaps less enthusiastically. “Good week?”

“Huh? Oh!” I blush. “Well, Mom’s recovery is going better than expected, so…yeah, I suppose it has been.”

His smile widens. I swear my heart nearly jumped out of my chest. I know I had to remind myself to breathe.

“I’m glad to hear she’s doing well.”

“Yeah, she hasn’t regained her ability to move or speak yet, but she’s getting better. The doctors are hopeful. How about yourself? Has it been a good week for you?”

“Well,” Thorin shrugged, “Neither good nor bad.”

“Well I usually count those as good anyway. Just uneventful. Nothing to report…no news is good news…I’ll just shut up.”

I stare at the floor, wondering why I had to open my mouth.

_Not cool, Bilbo…somebody, kill me now…_

We paid for drinks and headed to a table outside. Thankfully we found one with an umbrella so I wouldn’t have to squint as much as I would have otherwise.

I’m probably losing my mind wishing to be the lip of the cup holding Thorin’s coffee.

“So…” I begin. _Damn, what next?_

“So?”

“We’ve spoken a lot about Dwalin’s and your childhood. But…what about post-elementary school?” I ask.

Thorin’s smile faltered.

“I don’t mean in high school if you’re not ready to talk about that day. Maybe in Jr. High? You were still close then, right?”

“Yes. We were. I think…Dwalin had begun to pull away from everyone by seventh grade, but we were still close. A part of me wonders if he was coming to grips with his sexuality then, but I’m not entirely sure…anyway! There was a high school across the street from the Jr. High we were attending. We…stupidly—and I mean that, it’s not our brightest moment—agreed to a dare to ask out a senior attending said school.”

“Frightening at thirteen, true, but I fail to see how it was stupid.”

“Her boyfriend was right there next to her when we asked.”

Thank God I just swallowed coffee. It’d be too embarrassing if I spat it out to laugh. (I would have. I know from experience.) 

“I think her response was worse.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Uh…‘I know it’s inevitable, but go easy on them. They’re just kids.’ We ran off, trying to escape four or five seniors dead set on throwing us in the dumpster.”

“Did they?”

“Yeah,” Thorin took another sip. “I smelt like trash for at least a week after. I swear, half the stuff we did was because Dwalin was trying to make it hard for me to join the clergy.”

I nod. “Sounds like it to me.”

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“It’s funny!” I snap defensively. “And reminded me of one of a bar fight we got into.”

“Do I want to know?”

“Some ass kept hitting on me even though I already told him I had a partner. Dwalin may or may not have gotten a bit carried away when he showed up. I was half ready to punch the dick anyway. Dwalin just punched harder.”

“Yeah, I could see that happening. But I fail to see how it relates.”

“The ass was drunk. When we were kicked out, he followed us.”

“And ended up in a trash bin?”

“Yep.”

I drink my coffee.

Thorin’s rests on the table, his thumb tracing the plastic rim of the lid. His brow is dark and he frowns, worrying his lip.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, looking up. “I just…I think I should tell you what happened _that_ day, but…I don’t know where to start.”

Oh. “You don’t have to.”

“I do.”

“No. You don’t. In your own time, all right. That sort of crap gets messy.”

“I know. And even if you’re able to push it under the rug, I _can’t_. Since it happened, I’ve wanted to apologize to Dwalin.”

“But you didn’t.”

“We were sixteen. I was misguided and I was scared.”

“Sounds like the average high school student to me,” I say, leaning back.

Neither of us relents. I’m not sure I myself am ready to dig up the past…but then again, this isn’t my past.

“All right. But maybe not here?”

Thorin agrees.

My place is closer and it’s the most private place I can think of right now since both Nori and Bofur are at work.

Once there, he sits on the couch, empty coffee cup held in his hands which seem to shake. He’s almost green and I fear he’ll make his lip bleed with how hard he’s biting it.

“We have some tea if you’d like…” I offer.

He shakes his head and sets the cup on the coffee table.

“Dwalin had…recently come out,” he began. “I was fine with it, personally, but not everyone we knew could handle him being gay. I was already questioning my own sexuality, and…you know as well as I that growing up in a Christian household when you’re gay is tough. More so when you’re open.

“Dwalin was shunned at school as well as at home and after a month of it, he had stopped attending all together. Too many people were either just ignoring him or jumping down his throat or throwing insult after insult at him. Half the time, there was nothing I could do. His sexuality meant nothing to me. He was my best friend and I’ve known him my whole life.  We were like brothers.

“And since I was going through the same problems he was, I had decided to tell him about my own struggles with sexuality. Before I could do so, Dwalin admitted to being in love with me.”

Thorin paused, wringing his hands. He would not look at me, staring at the floor as though it were the most interesting thing in the room. I wish he’d just continue telling this tale. The sooner it’s out…well, I don’t know what I’ll do after.

“When he confessed to having loved me as more than a friend or brother, I ran. I just…I couldn’t _handle_ it. I was _terrified_. And I just…I was probably _worse_ than anyone else who had judged him. And I had already decided a long time ago to join the clergy.”

He swallowed as though doing so may soothe his voice so it didn’t sound so choked down.

“I stopped visiting him. I stopped speaking to him. I wouldn’t even _acknowledge_ him when he tried to talk to me if we ended up in the same place.

“A month or two of this went on until he stopped trying to get me to talk to him again. I didn’t realize how much it would hurt, having someone you were once so close to ignore you until he stopped. We often frequented the same places and still went there. Running into each other was unavoidable. Dwalin was…if there is a word to express both anger and sadness, I don’t know it.”

“I think you do,” I say. Thorin lifts his head, his eyes meeting my own. “Betrayal. It’s an emotion a lot of men and women feel the moment someone they care for turns their back on them. There is sadness because the trust they had in each other was broken. There is anger because they don’t understand how the offending party could have done what they did. We all have felt betrayed at least once in our lives and depending on how well we knew the traitor, the betrayal feels worse. Marriages have been destroyed because of a cheating spouse who betrayed their partner by breaking the vows they made at the altar. The trust between friends has been destroyed because one could not keep a secret for long, regardless of what the secret is.

“I don’t think there are words that can be expressed for how Dwalin must have felt after you shunned him like that. He must have felt he could confess loving you romantically _because_ you accepted him for who he is.” My teeth clack together. I said too much. It is odd how someone can keep their tone calm, but filled with such bitterness in this situation. I’m not even angry…at least I don’t think I’m angry. “I…uh…actually wasn’t going to talk until after you finished.”

“Would you rather I stop?”

I swallow. My throat feels tight and my eyes sting of unshed tears. “No.”

Thorin bowed his head again and we sat in silence while he gathered his thoughts. “I didn’t think about it for a long time. But…when I came to terms with my own sexuality…I realized just how much I hurt him and I wanted, for _years_ , to fix it. I knew we might not be as close as we used to, but…I wanted to try. Eventually we did start talking again but…” He shook his head. “I was too cowardly and it never seemed to be the right time to tell him how sorry I was…how sorry I still am.”

Neither of us moved for a long time. Or so it felt.

I stood, walking into the kitchen to call the hospital and tell them I won’t be visiting today. I request the nurse let my mother known and that I’ll explain when I visit tomorrow. “Something came up” will just have to do for now.

I return to the living room and sit beside him on the couch, wrapping my arm around him, inviting him to lay his head on my shoulder. I squeeze his shoulder, resisting a need to thread my fingers through his hair, which I can tell now is fine, silk thread. I bite my lip to stop myself from planting kisses on his forehead. _I love you_ are forbidden words wanting to unglue my tongue from the roof of my mouth.

“You were just a kid,” I whisper. “I’m not Dwalin, but I forgive you…on his behalf, I forgive you.”

This has to be the most accepting I’ve been of a Christian in a long time. Oddly, a story like what he had told me would have had me so furious…

But I’m not angry. Not even a little bit.

Rather I think what I feel is sympathy. Or, perhaps, it’s actually empathy.

I was terrified when I realized I was a homosexual. I was so afraid in those days.

I prayed for answers, for epiphanies.

I cried in solitude having nothing to go on.

Every time I read my Bible, hoping to find an answer to what I was or what I should do about who I was, I only saw condemnation in the words I had learned about so long ago and had no comfort.

Coming out had been difficult. And my parents weren’t fools enough to not know something was wrong. So it wasn’t so much that I “came out,” but rather that I was pulled out of that metaphorical closet one day after school.

Mom had picked me up, asking if I was okay with going out for dinner that day. Dad had suggested we go to the Hard Rock Café. I didn’t think anything of it at the time and agreed enthusiastically. As far as I was concerned, I had been incredibly subtle.

It was the weekend, but I had finished my homework so I wouldn’t have to worry about it. We had dinner, took desert to go. Arrived home and—

The interrogation began.

I didn’t realize until then I had left my prayer journal open (it had always been easier for me to write prayers out, like letters, rather than pray out loud openly. Thoughts are easier to get onto the page that way and easier to convey) one night while I went out with a few friends to a movie and Dad had seen it.

And read it.

I admitted, “Yes, I am questioning my sexuality. No, I don’t know for sure if I am. But…is it really so bad? Being gay?”

To Dad, it was unforgiveable.

Mom had never been so angry with him until then. She would not hear of it. She would not abide me to live in a house where I would not receive support when I needed it most.

I went to live with my grandparents while my parents battled and consulted experts after that.

From there, my relationships with the people I knew went in two directions and factioned off.

My Christian friends would not speak to me again. My non-Christian friends thought me a revolutionist and even an anarchist.

The guys I had known saw me as something to be feared while women flocked around me as though I were a puppy. (I thought it was annoying rather than uplifting.)

But none of that has to do with now.

Right now, I’m with Thorin.

Our breathing quivers past lips which suck in breath as if we were fish out of water. My shoulder is chilled by his tears and my own slip through the cracks of my mouth and I taste saline water.

#

“I know you’re not going to be talking any time soon, Mom, so just blink twice for yes and once for no…” I pause and slump my shoulders.

Mom’s eyes sparkle. She’s laughing at me. I can feel it.

I sit down, crossing my arms and slumping in my seat.

Having told her why I didn’t come yesterday had launched into how I feel about Thorin and the conflict I face with being in love with a priest.

“Do you think it’s too soon for me to be in love again? Dwalin’s not been gone even a year yet, so…I don’t know.”

She blinks once.

_No._

I open my mouth to ask why and realize that might be too much to expect from her right now. But I really want to know why! I’ll just have to settle for not knowing.

“I’m guessing you’d ask more about Thorin…”

Two blinks.

I don’t know where to start.

“He was Dwalin’s best friend since they were children. Had a falling out in High School…tried to renew it a little with…I guess…not a lot of success…erm…he’s good looking.” I blush, feeling a tad vain in saying so, regardless whether or not it’s true. “Very good looking…Different from the Christians I’m used to dealing with. Very different. He doesn’t judge me for being gay. Mostly because he’s also gay…and he still decided to be a priest.”

I lean forward, bowing my head.

“I’m an idiot for falling in love with him, aren’t I?”

No answer.

I’d probably have one if I looked up at her.

“Take the jump.”

I look up, startled. Mom is looking right at me, completely serious. Maybe…

No…I must have imagined it.

_Imagined or not, you should do it anyway. What’s the harm?_

I can name a lot of things that could go wrong. That _can_ go wrong.

_Take the jump._

Easy for her to say (if she really did say anything). “I can’t.” Her eyes narrow at me.

 _You can. You just won’t. Why? What are you afraid of?_ Honestly, I don’t know. I stand. “I have to go,” I say, kissing her forehead. Mom’s eyes sparkle. “I’ll tell you how it goes tomorrow.”

I almost run out of the hospital and jog to the subway station on Park Avenue. I tap my foot anxiously against the floor, holding a metal pole in a death grip.

 _“East fifty-first street,”_ a female electronic voice announces.

I get off, jogging up the stairs to the ground level. I wish I could just run past the crowd to the church. I can’t, settling for walking at a fast pace.

My heart beats fast against my chest, a rapid drumbeat to no tune I can name. I jump two steps at a time and the wardens carved into the door will not halt me. I pass the sanctuary, and almost run down the hall, looking for—

“Thorin!”

He turns to me, staring. His gaze is cold and his stance is rigid.

I don’t understand. Had I done something to anger him? Should I not have come? Is now a bad time? What happened between yesterday when we last saw each other and now?

I can’t move. My tongue swells in my mouth and I wish it’d not so I could ask him what’s wrong and why he looks so foreboding.

“Bad time?” I wring out from my throat. He turns on his heal, walking away. “Thorin?” I force my feet to move. I seize his wrist. “What’s wrong? Don’t treat me the way you did Dwalin!”

He winces.

“Please don’t.”

“Don’t what? What am I doing that’s so offensive?” I let go of him. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No! No, it’s not…I’m not afraid of you.”

“But you’re on the defensive! You’re afraid of something. What is it? Let me help.”

He looks around, then opens the door he had run to, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to explain it right, but I’ll try.” I follow him into the room. He locks the door and shades the windows. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“I don’t think I can meet with you again.”

My heart squeezes and my throat constricts. “Why not?”

“Please try to understand—”

“Understand what? You’re not telling me anything.”

“I’m a priest.”

“I know that.”

“Do you? I have vows to uphold, duties to live up to. And I’m part of a very conservative sect of Christianity. If I act on my sexuality, my career could be ruined…” He leans against the door, as though it’s taking all his strength to stand. “It was never a problem before. But now…now, I…I don’t know what to do about how you make me feel. I’ve never _felt_ like this before.”

“Like…weak kneed and walking on air? Takes a little effort to think properly? Heart feels like it could burst out of your chest?” He nods. “You’ve never been in love before?” I ask. “Not once?” He nods again. I’m actually shocked. The guy probably had both men and women swooning over him and he never once noticed?

I step closer to him. I pause. “I love you too. And no one needs to know about us, if you’re willing to give us a chance.” _Please say yes. Please._ His hand cups my cheek, stroking the bone beneath my eye.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. I crane my neck, pressing my lips to his.


	6. Chapter 6

Thorin grips my arms firmly, guiding me backwards into his desk. A voice in the back of my mind is screaming:

_Slow down. You’re going too fast._

I don’t listen to it. Or, rather, I refuse to. I’m lifted onto the desk, wrapping my legs around Thorin’s waist. His nails claw my scalp; I untuck his shirt, sliding a hand under the fabric to caress solid muscle and hair. I feel warmer than I should and the heat pools into my belly—

My phone rings and we pull apart.

Thorin’s lips are a little puffy and red. Mine are thrumming and warm. I get off the desk and answer.

“Hello?”

“ _Bilbo! Thank God you answered_ ,” Nori sounded _way_ too frantic for this to be a prank call.

“What happened?”

“Everything all right?” Thorin asked.

“ _There was an accident at Bofur’s construction site_ ,” Nori huffed. “ _They won’t let me see him._ ”

I grit my teeth.

“They didn’t take him to your hospital?” If they did, they’d let Nori stay by his side.

“ _Nearest one wasn’t mine._ ”

“Is Bombur on his way?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Then he’ll vouch for you when he gets there. I’m sure Bofur’s fine. Which hospital is he at? I’ll meet you there?” No answer. “Nori?”

“ _New York Downtown Hospital Emergency Department_.”

“Okay, I’ll see you there.”

“ _Okay. Bye._ ”

“Bye.”

I hang up.

“My roommate had an accident on the job. It’s probably just a broken arm or leg, but I should go…if just to calm my other roommate down. Dinner at my place tonight? Seven?”

Thorin nods.

I grin, kissing him goodbye and leaving the church.

I haven’t felt like this in a long time: this feeling of lightness, walking on air, spring in your step, and wanting nothing more than to sing in the rain. Okay, a bit cliché, I admit. But nothing, not even Bofur’s accident (though I am worried about him), feels like it can pull me down from this high.

The Hospital Nori spoke of is in lower Manhattan—which is quite a few blocks South of where the Church and my mother’s hospital is located.

I switch metro stations at Broadway and get off at City Hall, striding across Park Row and down Beekman Street.

 I enter the emergency room’s waiting area, scanning for Nori. He’s slumped in a chair, head bowed.

“Nori.” He looks up at me. His eyes are red. “Bombur get here yet?”

“He’s talking to them right now,” he said, voice thick. “Has been for a few minutes. Got here about an hour before you.”

I didn’t think it took that long. I sat beside him. Nori leaned forward, hiding his face in his hands. I rub his back, trying to comfort him. The doors opened and Bombur waved at us.

“I’ll be right here,” I assure Nori.

Nori stands, staring at Bombur.

“Will they…”

“Took a bit of convincing, but yeah,” Bombur grinned. “They’ll let you in, No.”

He followed Bombur back inside, I lean back in my seat, wondering what I’m going to make for dinner and whether Bofur will be able to come home or not.

If so, that would mean I’d have to cook for four people rather than two…and would have an audience when Thorin and I talk.

Which really isn’t preferable even if it is unavoidable…

I’ll worry about that later. What do we have at home that I can use?

#

I text Nori, telling him I’d be at home, around five while walking back to the subway station.

_Okay. Thanks for coming, Bilbo. Bofur’s got a broken leg, but other than that and a few scratches, he’s fine. We’ll be spending the night at the hospital._

An uneventful hour and a half later, I’m scrounging the kitchen for whatever there may be.

Chicken, asparagus, rice, bacon, peppers, peas, mushrooms, lettuce, tomatoes, garlic croutons, cashews, broccoli balsamic vinegar…

I know what to make.

I begin with the main dish—ingeniously called “chicken-and-rice”—letting the chicken thaw and bringing out the rice pot, while heating two skillets. One for the main dish and another for the asparagus.

After that is done, I throw the bacon strips into the larger skillet for sautéing before adding margarine into the smaller skillet. While the bacon cooked, I cleaned the asparagus and cut them vertically in half before throwing them into the small skillet, letting it soak up the margarine and tenderize.

I remove the bacon, set aside on a paper towel, and chop up half of an onion to add to the same skillet. When the onion’s tender, I add the chicken, then the peas, bacon, mushrooms, salt, and pepper. With that done, I rescue the asparagus, setting it on the table.

I wash my hands while letting the dish simmer to get a bowl for it before proceeding to make the salad, cleaning the lettuce leaves and washing the tomatoes and broccoli before chopping them up to mix in a bowl with the cashews. I pour two tablespoons of vinegar on it for flavor, occasionally checking on the main dish to make sure it doesn’t overcook.

I scrap the skillet clean of the chicken-and-rice dish into another bowl, and set the salad and chicken on the table. I check the wine rack and grin finding a white oaked pinot noir.

Perfect.

I finish setting the table just as there is a knock on the door, and my heart skips a beat. I go to answer it, and find Thorin grinning at me in the doorway.

I return the smile.

“Come in,” I offer, stepping aside.

He’s changed his shirt, but only that, so he would not be recognized and still look nice. In his hand is a bottle of red wine. Won’t go with dinner, but it’d do for after.

He hands it to me.

“I, uh…wasn’t sure if I should bring something.”

“You didn’t have to,” I assure him, still beaming. It’s port. I head to the kitchen, setting it on the counter. “We’ll have it after dinner if that’s all right with you.”

“Sure.”

I finish loading the cooking utensils into the dishwasher.

“Sorry about the mess. I just finished cooking everything when you knocked.”

I seal the dishwasher, glancing at Thorin. He looks as though he feels out of place, staring at the ground and shuffling his feet. In a way—if not for his beard—he looks like a Jr. High kid going at his first dance.

It’s adorable. I pull him down for a kiss.

“You don’t have to be nervous.”

Thorin blushes. “Was I really that obvious?”

“An open book.” I kiss him again. “But it was cute. Hungry?”

“Yes.”

We sit down and eat.

He asks after Bofur and my mother. I tell him they’re both doing fine.

I don’t have many details about Bofur’s accident beyond that he broke his leg and that he and Nori will be staying at the Hospital tonight.

Thinking on it, Nori, annoying though it was at the time, had good timing. Neither of us is ready to jump into bed with each other and who knows how close we came to doing just that!

“Mom…might have regained her ability to speak, but I’m not sure. I may have just been hearing things.”

“But she’s communicating with others?”

“Bit difficult to do when you’re recovering from a stroke.”

“True…but you _think_ she spoke.”

“I heard her voice,” I say, taking a sip from my wine glass. “I did not see her lips move.”

“What did she say? Or what did you think she said?”

“Take the jump.”

Thorin arches an eyebrow. “Take the jump?”

I blush.

“I had…look, like you said, you’re a priest. That’s practically as unavailable as possible and I was still falling in love with you even though I knew there probably wasn’t any point to it and venting to Mom had been something I’ve done a lot of times before.

“She never judged me for who I am, so I always felt safe going to talk to her about things like…love and politics and, a long time ago, faith…So…I was talking to her about how I felt about you and after I had finished, I _thought_ she spoke.”

“So…right now wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t decide to take her advice. Or the advice you think she’d give you.”

“She’s not been wrong yet,” I say. “And I think it had less to do with my mother’s advice and more that I made you tell me what was plaguing you. I didn’t expect us to be wrestling with the same emotions. But in a roundabout way, we could give my mom the credit. She’ll like that.”

“What mother does not? Yours particularly sounds like a force to reckon with.”

“She’s rather stubborn. My family’s a huge mess of politics and religion! My father’s family is very conservative and traditional, and my mother’s is progressive and philosophical.”

“I didn’t think I’d ever come across a successful opposites attract relationship…”

“They managed to make it work for a good many years…but when she had her stroke…they’d been separated for years now. I shouldn’t be surprised that they’re probably going to get a divorce now.”

“Why?”

“Probably because of me—I know most people would say it’s ridiculous, but I feel that a part of why they separated had to do with my coming out. Until then, they managed to find middle ground…”

“Bilbo, you did nothing wrong in coming out and I am sorry about your parents. They’re separation has nothing to do with you. I know it may _feel_ like it is, but it’s not your fault.”

I stare at him, a bit surprised. I start to laugh.

“Sorry,” I say. “I didn’t realize I dumped all that on you!”

“I don’t mind,” Thorin shrugged. “I aim to be approachable. A priest tends to be a counselor as well as a leader. Some priests will just tell those who come to them to recite a certain prayer a few times and hand out verbal slaps to the wrist. I don’t agree with that method.”

“Maybe you should have been a shrink.”

“Maybe I should have, but I’ve not regretted becoming a priest yet. And I’d be lying if I said psychology had not been a…passion of mine.”

“Did you go to college?”

“And graduated.”

“Religion major, Psychology minor?” I ask. His eyebrows rose. “Interesting choice. Religion majors usually are also interested in studying philosophy on the side.”

“Well, you’re not _quite_ correct, but pretty close. I double majored in religion and philosophy.”

I shake my head.

“The workload alone…”

“I had no life whatsoever.”

“Neither did I, but I was balancing a job and school! And I only had a major! Then again…I was rooming with Bofur and Nori and they often kidnapped me.”

“Kidnapped?”

“It just means they took me away from whatever I needed to be doing so we could go teepee some old coot’s house because he yelled at them for making out in public.”

Thorin shook his head.

“That makes no sense.”

“It did at the time, but lots of tequila had been involved.”

His eyes bulge. I laugh.

“Okay, maybe I had a little bit of a life and it was college. Thinking things through when we needed to wind down before our heads exploded was…yeah…I promise age made us calmer. A little bit.”

“Just a little?”

“Well, we don’t go teepeeing old people’s houses anymore.”

“Good to know,” Thorin chuckled.

He helped me clear the table after they had finished eating. Then we opened the port, filling new glasses with ruby red liquid and settled on the couch.

“So…”

I paused, unsure exactly where to begin. I know I want to discuss boundaries with Thorin, but where to start? I’m dimly aware of Thorin staring at me as I fish for the right words.

“Secret or not, we should have some guidelines so that it doesn’t turn into some sort of apocalyptic mess.”

Thorin snorted.

“You know what I mean!”

“I do,” he says, “But that doesn’t mean I won’t laugh at the irony.”

I roll my eyes, tucking my legs under me. “Keeping a secret relationship is hard to maintain. Would you mind if my roommates know? They’re bound to find out eventually and my mother already…kind of knows…”

“So long as it doesn’t get back to the church…”

“It won’t. I trust the three of them with my life. They know how to keep a secret.”

Thorin nodded, his mouth set in a firm, thin line. “I’ll trust your judgment then.”

“I think it’s a given that we aren’t going to be able to be public about our relationship. Would that bother you?”

“No. Even if homosexual relationships are usually frowned on, or seem to be, I can tell you that PDA always bothered me even before I met you. While I understand a couple wanting to be affectionate in public and how some might think it’s cute, it’s also rather rude.”

I hummed. “So no on that, regardless. May I ask why?”

“Is high school not reason enough? I lead a youth group at the church. Teens put their trust in me. Some of them find themselves terribly heartbroken when someone they like is openly affectionate with their partner. I’d rather spare the waterworks if I could and it’s generally uncomfortable.”

“I understand that.”

“Here, though, in private…”

“You _better_ be affectionate with me in private,” I snapped, trying to sound nasty. However, I couldn’t keep myself from smiling. “I’ll kick your ass otherwise.”

Thorin rested his head on my shoulder.

“Better?”

I wanted to point out how awkward it was for him to lay his head on my shoulder like that out of the blue, but decided against it. _He’ll get it down eventually_ , I thought. Instead, my free hand laced through Thorin’s hair just behind his ear.

“Much,” I say. “To add, regardless how affectionate we are in public or private, I think it’d be important to enjoy the time we spend together.”

“I’d like that.”

“Is there anything you want to add? I feel like I’m just talking your ear off.”

“Verbal communication.”

 _Good one_.

“The Catholic Church doesn’t allow divorce, but I think we can both attest to seeing relationships fall apart because they do not talk to each other. Some fall apart because lies build up.”

“I have seen that happen.”

Many times. Some of the friends I made would refuse to see each other because they ended up hating each other so much after their relationship was botched.

“So I can agree with that. And you’re right about the lies. Whether I believe what the Bible says about God or not, it’s got pretty good advice concerning relationships.”

Thorin hummed.

“Is there anything else you’d like to add or should I keep blurting ideas out?”

“I like your ideas so far. And you’re not blurting _that_ much. You’re more asking about my opinion on these things.”

“Well, feel free to ask questions of your own,” I offer.

For what felt like a long time, Thorin said nothing. I finished my wine, setting the empty glass on the table, wondering if I should suggest making boundaries concerning sex.

After all, would we even have sex? Would Thorin prefer we not have sex at all or wait? Is he uncomfortable with it?

_And there are his vows…_

“Would…would you expect…expect us to…”

I wait for him to finish the sentence, pretending not to be annoyed by how anxious he seems.

“Have…sex?”

“That’s entirely up to you,” I say. “Personally, I’d like to have sex with you, but it must be mutual. If you don’t want to, we won’t.”

He relaxed. I hadn’t noticed how stiff he was through the question.

“To be honest,” he turned his head so to look at me. “I want to. I’m _not_ asexual, as you know, so…I’m curious, I suppose we could say, but…”

“Your vows.”

“That’s part of it, yes, but you know I’ve felt called to the life I lead now since I was a kid. Until now, I’ve never seriously wondered what it’d be like.”

“I figured you were a virgin from our conversations.”

Thorin’s cheeks tinged as did the tips of his ears. “Was I that obvious?”

“If you mean to say that you never mentioned having dated anyone in all your life until now, then yes. I can also guess that you’ve never been kissed until today either.  Despite that, I can also tell without being told that you probably broke a lot of hearts without realizing you were doing so. You’re very attractive, Thorin. Head-turning, mouth-dropping, sculpted by God attractive.”

If I ever say I did not like watching his pallor change to such a deep red then may my tongue be cut out of my mouth. It’s fucking adorable.

I’m a little sad when he decides to turn away from me so I can’t see his face. I shift to embrace him.

“We’ll abstain from sex for now,” I say. “When you’re more comfortable with the idea, let me know and we’ll discuss it some more.” I resist the urge to say this in his ear, kissing the top of his head instead.

I never thought I’d date a virgin.

My first guy wasn’t and most of my kinks were from his guidance.

I’ll admit he wasn’t as patient as I’m willing to be with Thorin, though. I wasn’t happy with him my first night, but I wasn’t angry either. Just annoyed that he wouldn’t wait for me to come to him when I was more comfortable with the idea of having sex with him.

Because of that, I stand by a code of letting my new partners come to me when they were ready instead of going to them myself and tricking them into consenting.

Honestly, I’m a little anxious about being with a virgin while also a little excited by it.

“I can do that,” Thorin mumbled. I barely heard him, but I still smile and kiss his cheek above where his beard begins, hugging him a little tighter.

 _There’s so much I want to do to you_ , I think.

I push those thoughts aside, deciding to save them for tonight instead.

“More wine?” I ask.

“Haven’t we had enough?”

“Are you a lightweight?”

“No.”

“Then no.”

#

I stop by the florist, buying a bouquet for Mom.

My only instructions for the girl were, “no roses.” Otherwise, it could be anything. A glass vase was filled with white lilies, pink mini carnations, and violet lilacs.

I paid for the assortment and continued on to the hospital.

Mom smiles at me when I show up.

 “Bilbo.”

I almost drop the vase, startled that she’s able to talk now. I set the vase on the table next to her and sit down beside her.

“How did it go with your new friend?”

“So…when I nearly ran out yesterday because I thought you spoke—”

“Oh, I spoke. The doctors still can’t seem to figure out how I’m recovering so quickly, but what’s a girl to do? I’ll take any miracles that come by. Now, _how_ did it _go_?”

I’m smiling again.

“We talked and…it went very well.”

“By well you mean he let you down gently?”

“No,” I look up at her. “We’re…he was falling in love with me too, so we’re going to try making it work.”

“So he’ll leave the priesthood?”

“No. And I’m not going to ask him to.”

“Bilbo, his vows are at risk just by _being_ in a relationship with you whether you decide to keep it secret or not. If he were a protestant, it’d be easier for both of you.”

“I know. But you told me to go for it. And I did. Why do you like contradicting yourself?”

“I don’t. I worry about you, Bilbo. After Dwalin, you were broken. Seeing you happy like this again is good, but I was not expecting something to come from it.”

“You think we made a mistake.” My head feels hot and my teeth grit together.

Did she not tell me to go for it?

I know she did, so why is she saying the exact opposite of what she told me yesterday now?

“Calm down, Bilbo,” Mom patted my hand, gripping it in hers. “I only want you to be careful. This is your first relationship since Dwalin died. A part of me wonders if you’re moving too fast. And this is a forbidden relationship you’ve dipped into.”

“I’m careful.”

“Be _more_ careful, Sweetheart.” Mom squeezed my hand. “And bring him by some time. With _food_. Flowers. Really! I thought I taught you better than that!”

I roll my eyes. I know she loves them. “You’re welcome, Mom.”


	7. Chapter 7

I inspect my attire in the mirror. Thank God for Nori being the one with a semblance of fashion sense. I don’t see what’s so bad about a waistcoat, but he insisted that unless I meant to leave the waistcoat unbuttoned I ought to lose it.

Currently, said item is back in the closet and I’m playing with the buttons of the light blue dress shirt. I finally settle for leaving the top three unbuttoned before heading out of my room. Nori smirks.

“Don’t say a word,” I snap, glaring at him. “I’ve got to go?”

“It’s eight. The Garden doesn’t open until ten?”

“I’m meeting Thorin at the Botanical Garden. Which is at the Bronx. You know? The complete other side of the city?”

“I know. But it’d only take an hour to get there if you know the route.”

I tie my shoes and take my coat from the closet by the door. “I checked the route online. I’m good. We’re having breakfast together nearby.”

“No wonder you’re snippy. Behave yourself. I’d hate to hear that you defiled a priest—”

I close the door behind me, cutting Nori off. Jeez. Must he be a bastard? Doesn’t he have two brothers to heckle instead?

I’ll never understand Nori. I love the guy as if he was my own brother, but I’ll _never_ understand him.

There are three or four different routes to the Botanical Garden that I know of. First is to make the subway train on fifty-seventh and seventh. At the first stop, I have to walk to another station on fifty-ninth. Then I take the subway Northward and get off at one hundred-twenty-fifth. From there, I take Train 531 for North White Plains in Harlem. Two stops later, I get off at the Botanical Garden.

By then, it’s just after nine and I head in the opposite direction toward Webster Café where Thorin and I agreed to meet. I find him in the corner. He wore his usual jeans and a plain black t-shirt, stirring coffee.

“Good morning,” I greet, sitting down. Thorin beamed.

“Morning to you,” he said. “Traffic was kind to you, I guess?”

“I went by Subway mostly, then by train, so traffic wasn’t really an issue.”

“I probably should have just done that, then,” he mumbled. “I came by bus. Traffic was terrible.”

“Ouch. But you got here.”

“Because I left a little earlier…I half thought you’d be here before me.”

A waiter handed me a menu and I ordered a chamomile tea. He is young and gives us a broad grin before leaving. I’m not sure what that was about. Thorin shakes his head.

“I’ve a…confession to make,” he said. “That was my cousin.”

“Ah. So that’s why you chose this place?”

“It is. He doesn’t know about us—namely because he if he does, my brother will find out and then the whole of my family because my brother won’t keep his mouth shut…”

“Ah. Big family?”

“Yeah. My grandfather, parents, brother, sister, her husband and her two sons…in the same house. And that’s just my immediate family”

I wince. “Lucky you for getting out.”

“Tell me about it. Dain attends college nearby.”

“Wait…the same house? Four generations in one house?”

“Yep. And eight people under one roof.”

“I thought it was scary enough to have just two.”

Thorin laughed. “You think your family has issues? We’re Italian and bankers.”

“Yet you decided to be a priest.”

“Italian, Catholic bankers. I had issues with my family: namely with my grandfather’s greed. When I was little, I thought he was so cool because I was under the impression he was mob boss.”

“Like the _Godfather_?”

“Exactly like the _Godfather._ Eventually, I got tired of it and said I’d have nothing to do with it. The only one in the family who was completely supportive of my decision to be a priest was my mother.”

“How old were you when you decided to join the clergy?” I ask. Dain returns with my tea.

“So…what can I get you, gentlemen?”

“Uh…” We hadn’t looked at the menu since I came in.

“A few more minutes?”

“Sure. Thanks Dain.”

“Not a problem, Thorin.” He walked away to check on other customers, throwing his winsome smile toward a gaggle of girls, blushing madly at him and giggling.

“Sorry…uh…I was about six or seven I guess when I felt this sort of ache in my chest. I went to confession after a service about it and my family’s parish priest decided to help me figure out what had been bothering me. I don't know how many prayers I prayed alone and with him, but when I became an alter boy, that feeling started to go away.

“After that, I decided to join the clergy. Being the oldest, I was _supposed_ to take over the bank, but it never really…especially when I realized that my grandfather was skiving the tithe…as was my father. Not exactly my brightest moment in my childhood. I ended up throwing Malachi 3:6-10 in their faces.”

“Uh…”

“To paraphrase, the passage is to Israel, which had fallen into a state of apathy in their worship. There were a number of sins God could have set before them. He chose a sin concerning money, telling them in their apathy they were robbing him.”

“That would make sense, given how much people value it…”

“A universal truth that never changes. Never. What is said in the Bible about money is one of the few passages that can and should be taken literally.”

“Hmm.”

I drink my tea, staring at the menu.

The well of guilt I feel claws at me. I was never good at tithing when I _was_ a Christian, son of a pastor or not. Even now, though I’ve left the church, money always seems like such an issue and there are groups I’d like to give to…but I always feel as though I’m barely making ends meet with the money I do make.

_Belgium waffles sound good. Should I get strawberries or bacon with it? Strawberries. Definitely strawberries. And more tea._

“Bilbo?” I jerk my head up. Thorin tilts his head to the side. “Everything okay? You’re rather…”

“Oh. Uh…well…” I blush.

“Relax,” he said. “Tithing is something only those in the church do. As you’re not a Christian, it’s not something you ought to strive to do.”

“Doesn’t stop the guilt,” I mutter. “I was never good at it.”

“Well, admittedly, neither was I.”

“But…”

“Regardless whether I put the collar on or off, I’m still human and I’m still capable of making mistakes.” He flips through the menu again. “You know what you’re going to get?”

“Waffles.”

#

The Haupt Conservatory hosted eleven different exhibits. The more popular ones are the cactus deserts and the two different rainforests and the aquatic rooms. Wide eyed children filled up most of the exhibits, visiting with families, who had firm holds on their children.

Thorin and I entered into one of the rainforest exhibits. It was less crowded, ergo easier to walk around even in the stifling, moist heat. The thick arched trees overhead were a little higher than Thorin. We took our time, reading the placards when we came across it before scrutinizing the plant before us which the placard described.

I wished to hold his hand. It was an itch under the skin along my palms and fingers. I almost reached out to take his hand in mine.

Then stopped myself, opting to stuff them in my pockets instead. I didn’t realize how much it might hurt to deny my desire to show affection to Thorin in public. And yet I _wished_ I could. I wished he was not a priest so that we _could_ be together in public without risk or scrutiny.

Only now I see how hard it may be to keep my relationship with him secret.

How many people who come to his church might see him standing beside me? Recognize him? Even be smart enough to find us out?

I’m afraid.

And I know he’s afraid.

“Bilbo?”

“Huh?”

“Are you feeling all right? You look pale.”

A lie is on the tip of my tongue. I want so desperately to say, “Yes. I’m fine. It’s just very warm in here and I feel a little suffocated from the heat.” But I don’t. It’s a lie born of good will—of not wanting him to worry. But it’d just come to bite me in the ass later.

So I lead him to a secluded area in the conservatory, hands sweating in my pockets.

“Is it really okay for us to be here?” I ask. “I thought it’d be fine because it’s so far north from where we live and work, but…is it really okay? I’m afraid for you and I…I know we agreed not to be public with our affection, but God knows I want to hold your hand. I want to show that I love you to others…” I really don’t know what else to say.

Thorin glances around before leaning down to kiss me. It’s short and abrupt, but far from unpleasant.

“Yes, I am afraid of being found out,” he admits. “But why should I let it rule me? I want to be able to go out to places like this with you, Bilbo. I’m not going to let my fears decide what I can and cannot do. Does that make sense?”

I nod. It does, but I can’t fathom that sort of bravery. Or maybe I can. I’m not really sure.

“And if you want to hold my hand, I’m not opposed to it.”

To prove his point, he dug one of my hands out of my pocket and curled his fingers around it. He makes no mention to the sweaty palms, for which I’m grateful. A part of me wants to pull it away to wipe the sweat off, but another is afraid to let go especially as the itch I’ve been feeling ebbs away as we finish our walk through the conservatory.

A part of me is self conscious, but hardly anyone notices, or calls us out. Slowly the fears plaguing me disappear and I let Thorin lead me to different gardens within the park.

I have fun pulling him behind trees, after I was sure we could not be seen, to kiss him. It’s a rather easy feat to do in the Thain Family Native Forest in the center of the center of the Botanical Gardens.

We head back towards the entrance around noon for lunch at the Garden Café and after that we head back home, fighting down urges to kiss and to take the other’s hand, pretending not to know each other. The closer to Manhattan we got, the more cautious we became and the more paranoid I felt.

My worst fear came true when one mother and child approached Thorin. She didn’t seem to notice I was there or made any assumption that we were together, asking him how he was and where he had gone for the day. He was honest, but left out that I was ever there with him and I feel torn again.

Rationally, logically, I know it was a smart move. But my emotions, again, try to get the better of me. I bite my lip to remind myself that I have to keep silent. To remind myself that Thorin and I can’t show anyone anything. I get off before him, my hand gently brushing against his in a wordless goodbye.

I glance back to see him watching from within the train before it moves again.

I bow my head, heading up the stairs. I hate this. I really should have guessed it’d tear me apart in some way, but until now, the idea of a secret relationship was again new and exciting. I always forget how hard they are to maintain and I wonder how long it will be before everything explodes again.

I stop at a Starbucks for tea so to calm down a little bit. I can cry when I get home, I decide, even though I just want it all to spill over now. I drink the chamomile tea with two teaspoons of sugar and a dollop of honey to sweeten it, walking back home. It’s not yet dark, but the sun is starting to go down.

I feel eyes bearing into my back and turn around. It’s the same man as before. I see him easier. His muscles are defined when he crosses his arms and he easily towers over everyone even if just by a few inches. Thorin and Dwalin both were about six foot two. This guy is probably six-six at the least.

I feel bristled, but continue on my way home, trying to ignore that I know he’s following me again. I can feel his eyes on me and I pick up pace. I disappear into a toy shop, deciding that my best cover would be to get something for Dehqan for when I see him next. (Hopefully he won’t think he’s too old for slinkies…)

When I leave the store, the man is nowhere to be seen. I sigh, relieved and continue on my way, disposing the paper cup into a trash can. On entering home, I drag my feet up the stairs and slump against the door on entering.

“Bad date?” Bofur asked.

I shake my head. “Good. Very good. Until we were around Central Park.”

“Oh.”

“I’m not sure I can handle another secret relationship.”

Bofur hummed. “You and he agreed it had to be secret. So you knew it’d be hard to begin with.”

“I suppose you’re right and I’m just acting like a selfish bitch,” I sigh dramatically, setting the slinky down, still in the bag. “Where’s Nori?”

“Night shift,” Bofur said, turning the page of a book in his hand. “And what you’re feeling is natural. It’s okay to want to be affectionate with the one you love. You’re both adults and you’re aware of the consequences you’re relationship will have. Even if it hurts, you’re still trying to be mature about it and really that’s the most you can hope for. But while there…”

I sit beside him on the couch. “It was great.”

“And that’s all that matters. You had fun and you enjoyed yourself. Hormones flaring and all.”

“We weren’t _that_ hormonal.”

“True. But I can read it in your eyes: you were sneaking behind bushes.”

“Trees,” I snap, blushing. “And we were just kissing.”

“I hope so.”

“Jerk.” I stand. “Now I’m either going to be goofing off in my room or wallowing in the impossibility of what I now call my love life.”

“There’s Chinese in the kitchen when you’re done making an idiot of yourself or angsting.”

“Thanks.”

“Sure.”

I close the door behind me and collapse on my bed, staring at the ceiling, tucking a hand under my head. I don’t really feel like doing either. I’ve angsted enough on the way home, now that I think about it. And the reappearance of that giant man worries me. Getting off the bed, I sit at my desk, turning on my computer. Maybe I’ll actually be productive today despite feeling that I was _not_ going to get anything done today work-wise.

The street lamps are turning on and a glance out the window halts my dancing fingers.

The man is outside the apartment. He runs off down the street, trying to hide in the shadows. Too late, for that. I saw him and if I was worried or scared before it’s nothing on now. I really don’t need a stalker on top of everything else I have going on.

 _Okay,_ I say to myself, _Time to panic._

#

 “Are you _absolutely sure_ it’s the same man,” Nori demands.

“For the millionth time,” I groan, “Yes. You’d not forget a guy that big!”

“We can’t go around accusing a guy of stalking when you don’t know his name, Bilbo.”

“I can talk to a profile artist, get his description—”

“We are going,” Nori snarled, “to hire a P.I.”

“Why can’t we just talk to Dori?”

“Because Dori’s being a pain in my ass again! That’s why.”

“You two fought _again_?!”

“Are you really that surprised?”

“No.”

And I’m really not. Dori and Nori always butt heads on one thing or another. Ori, work, lifestyles, Bofur, food, whatever you name. At least Dori and Ori don’t care that Nori’s gay. It’s more than I can say about my Dad’s side of the family.

Nori banged his fist against a door with a plaque marked Gandalf Greyhame, PI.

I’m not all that comfortable with this. I can’t help but wonder what sort of guy would conduct his business in the middle of a retirement home. Nori says he’s still sane and, apparently, damningly good at sneaking around for information.

But isn’t living in a retirement home part of the point of being, well, _retired_?

No answer. Nori stuffed his hands in his pockets, fidgeting agitatedly before trying again to knock on the door.

“Mr. Greyhame is in the day room,” a nurse said, “With the Tooks.”

“Tooks?” I reply. I’m not sure if they’re any relation. They might be. I really ought to know which retirement center my grandparents are in…Mom would weep if she saw me now.

“I’ll show you,” she said, leading us down the hall to a large sitting room. A television played, an elderly woman played the piano, ladies knit or played card games with the gents—

The nurse led us through the room outside into the garden. Lo and behold: my grandparents. I turn to leave before I’m spotted, guilt overriding all sense of self preservation. Nori seized my shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“My grandparents are here and I can’t exactly tell them I came here to see their buddy but not them.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Hmm. Sucks to be you. Lie if it makes you feel better, but unless you want that guy coming around, you need to talk to the old PI.

Well, fuck. “I’ll come up with something,” I mumble. I square myself and plaster on a grin. “Hey, Gran,” I say, kissing her cheek.

“Bilbo! What a surprise!”

“We didn’t know you were coming, Son,” Grandpa added as I grip his hand, trying to be careful and not crush it. Despite the firmness, I can still feel through his skin as you could with the truly elderly. There are no words to describe how old my grandparents really are. Nearing a hundred, I’d say, the both of them! “You remember Gandalf, right?”

“I…fireworks guy?”

“Well at least he remembers something about you, ’Dalf!” Grandpa laughed.

“Hmm,” Gandalf said, eyes narrowed at me. “What brings you this way after so long, Bilbo?”

“Can’t I just say hello to my grandparents on a whim?”

Now I remember him: not just the guy who almost burned down Manhattan with his fireworks displays back when I was a kid, but also a shrewd detective…and he always spotted you in a lie when he was in his prime. I guess that hasn’t changed even in old age.

“Well, actually, you’re still a PI correct?”

“I am,” Gandalf responded. “Is something the matter?”

“Bilbo might have a stalker,” Nori answered.

“Well that won’t do!” Gran tutted. “How’d that happen, Bilbo?”

“No idea. He just…started following me around.”

“Can’t be good then,” Grandpa mused.

“Must be following you around because you’ve grown up to be as beautiful as your mother,” Gran added. I try not to let my discomfort to _that_ show. I love my mom to death but I don’t really like being compared to her or have anyone say I look like her.

Mainly because I don’t think I look anything like her.

“Well, I’d like to get rid of him if I can before anything gets out of hand. He already followed me around twice. The second time he followed me back home.” I describe the man to Gandalf. We discuss rates (rather cheap. Apparently I get a discount on association. Not gonna complain) and I’m roped into staying for a good five hours with poor Nori…who somehow was mistaken for my partner.

 _That_ was awkward: explaining that we’re just roommates and there’s nothing sexual or romantic about our relationship. It got worse when gran asked if I was in a triad with Nori and Bofur as the secondary partner.

(“No, Gran. I have a partner that has nothing to do with Bofur or Nori. We’re just roommates.”)

(“There’s nothing wrong with being in a triad these days, Bilbo. No need to be embarrassed.”)

“Somebody kill me,” I moan when we finally say goodbye.

“I don’t know, apart from them asking about your sex life, it wasn’t that bad.”

“It got bad the _moment_ they started prying into my sex life. That Gandalf guy was still there for god’s sake! Smoking and laughing at me!”

“Well, it was hard not to laugh.”

“Don’t be an ass.”

“Only for Bofur.”

“Really? Must you?”

“Clearly I must. And you’re getting stuffy.”

“Nori!”

“Well you are,” Nori muttered. “Besides, we got what we came for and you spent time with your grandparents for the first time in…”

“Six months. Olive Garden. Dad and Grandpa got into a fight about religion and politics.” I shake my head. “Never again. I don’t want to see either of them in the same room ever again! My family is Yin and Yang out of harmony…”

Nori snorted. “Could be worse. You could be related to Dori and Ori.”

“Shut up. You actually get along with your family, regardless how overbearing they are and you _love_ your baby brother. You’ve not right to talk.”

“Loving your family and getting along do not always go hand in hand, my good friend.”

I rub the back of my neck. “Fair enough.”

“What’s for dinner?”

“I have to look at the state of the frig first before I make any determination as to _that_.”

“Aw…”

“I know. I’m cruel. I could be crueler and deny you and Bofur dinner all together.”

“That is too cruel for words!” Nori hugged me, dragging me forward. “We love you too much, Mother! Why must you be so evil?”

“Calm down, I am making dinner tonight,” I sigh, pushing Nori off me before we hit an innocent bystander or two.

As we head home, my mind drifts to Thorin. What would he be doing today? It is Sunday…he’s probably leading a mass or something like that at St. Patrick’s. Or would that be another priest? He may be leading one in another area for the tweens, but I don’t really know.

I wonder if I should ask him more…

What about later tonight though? What would he do after he goes home? Should I text him? Ask him if he’d like to join me and my roommates for dinner tonight? Should I—

“You’re smiling and blushing,” Nori said, poking my cheek. “Thorin?”

“Er…”

“Thought so.”

My blush deepens and I stare at the ground, hands stuffed in my pocket so I don’t end up hitting Nori for poking fun at me. Again.

My phone buzzes against my hand. Thorin.

Nori rolls his eyes when he glanced at me again. “God, at this rate the two of you will be cuter than Bof and I. Trust me, that’s a scary thought!”

It kind of is.

I don’t care.

“Hello?”

“ _Hey Bilbo, how are you?_ ”

“Good. Just got escaped the retirement home. Visiting my grandparents.”

“ _Tell them I say hello next time._ ”

“Next time you’re coming with me,” I say. “They can be damnably insufferable at times and ask awkward questions. Actually that might not be a good idea.”

“ _I’d love to meet them. Just off the clock._ ”

“Yeah. Nori and I are heading home right now for dinner. Care to join a trio of degenerates?”

“Hey!” Nori snapped.

“ _I would love to, but I’ve been roped into performing mass at eight tonight. I won’t be able to make it unless you plan to eat at ten._ ”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“ _Tomorrow night?_ ”

“Sure.”

“ _I’ll see you tomorrow then._ ”

“Tomorrow…why’d you call if I may ask?”

“ _Just…wanted to hear you. That sound’s puerile._ ”

“Far from it. It’s actually cute.” Nori stuck his tongue at me.  I flip him off. “I was just thinking about you too. Wasn’t sure if I should call or not, so I’m glad you did and relieved that dilemma.”

“ _Glad to be of service._ ” I hear rustling. “ _I have to go. Love you. Bye._ ”

“All right. I love you too. Bye.”

Nori rolled his eyes at me. “Yep. Sickeningly cute. Just sickening.”

“You can always step up your own game. I’m sure Bofur will like that.”

“Hell no!”


	8. Chapter 8

I’m close to beating Nori and Bofur out of the house with a broom. They’re heading to a concert tonight and have yet to leave. I swear I might beat the shit out of them if they don’t leave _right now_. The chicken’s almost done and Thorin will be here any minute!

A knock at the door demands that my mission to get them out before Thorin arrives tells me I have failed. Bofur gets the door, grinning at Thorin. “Come on in, Padre,” he says, stepping aside. Thorin’s eyes shift around, confused and a little nervous.

I’d be nervous too with the leers my friends are sending him.

“They’re supposed to be gone.”

“And we will be,” Nori said, patting my back. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”

“Like having nookie on the couch,” Bofur adds. Nori snorts and they leave. The door closes behind them. Poor Thorin is bright red and I think I am too.

“I am so sorry about them,” I mumble. “They usually wouldn’t…well, no, they would…but that’s no excuse…you like chicken?”

I’ll just shut up.

“Um…did they really…”

“I made them disinfect it three times,” I say. I actually did, just to stress the fact that they are not allowed to do the dirty on places where everyone else may convene.  

“And even then, I may just get a new couch and they can somehow find a way to fit _that_ one into their room. So! Hungry?”

Thorin nodded, glad for the change of topic. He follows me to the kitchen.

“Other than that box of horrors, how are you?” I ask, offering him a glass of wine. He thanks me.

“Well. One of our senior priests are heading to Botswana with a team for a work-and-witness mission trip.”

“Sounds…harrowing,” I admit. I don’t see how it can be fun to go and work in a different country. I won’t deny that they are beneficial, but I’ve never found them interesting.

“Mission trips tend to sound so, I suppose,” Thorin agrees, “But they’re a lot more fun than you think.”

“I’ve never been on one myself, so I wouldn’t know.”

“I could tell,” Thorin said, grinning at me. “True, it’s not as…entertaining as a vacation trip, but at least there are no boring moments. Usually a day or two is taken for fun: shopping, exploring, entertainment…Yes, most of the time is spent working, but through that work, new bonds are formed. Sometimes relationships. Over all, mission trips are enriching. Even if you’re not religious, there are volunteer programs that allow non-Christians to assist as well. You might not be working with a church, but you’re still doing something that aids the people of the country you go to.”

“You need money to get there.”

“And money in order to stay for the length of time. Where do you think the money gained from tithes go toward?”

I bite my lip sheepishly. “Bigger buildings?”

Thorin laughed. “A church building is over all just a house. In of itself, the building is nothing. I can preach at St. Patrick’s and I can preach in a shack in the middle of the Amazon Rainforest in cargo shorts, sandals, and shirtless if I need to. The church itself, however, is the collective followers of Christ…well, it is supposed to be. Some of us fail, some of us succeed. Believing is just step one. You can believe and not do anything—ergo, you may as well just not believe at all.”

“Have you been on mission trips?”

“Several as soon as I was old enough to go on them. Which would be since thirteen. Dwalin and I went on a few together before…”

Dwalin never mentioned that! “Where?”

“Mostly in the US. Parents aren’t really comfortable with their kids going on mission trips out of the country without them. The last one we went on together was to Honduras. After that, I went on a few more in Latin and South America through College, a few summer mission trips in Europe, Africa, and China…I’ve yet to be the Middle East.”

My blood runs cold and my appetite dies. _Anywhere but the Middle East_ , I think, _I can handle anywhere but there._

“Bilbo?”

My throat feels tight and my fingers tremor.

_To Mr. Bilbo Baggins…We regret to inform you that Dwalin Fundin, War Correspondent for the New York Times…_

Two hands press against my cheeks. “Bilbo, look at me.” Thorin shakes me, kneeling before me. “Are you all right?”

“Don’t ever go to the Middle East,” I say. “Don’t ever go there. Please.”

“I can’t promise that,” Thorin said. “I won’t say that I won’t be scared if I am called to go there, but if I am I will go.”

“I don’t have your faith. Dwalin died there. I can’t go through that again!”

Thorin lowered his hands, taking mine in his, thumbs pressing gently into my knuckles. “I still can’t make any promises, but I’m not going anywhere in the foreseeable future. And there is the possibility that I’ll never feel called to go there.” He kissed my fingers. “Don’t worry about what we cannot know, okay? I’m here right now.” He grinned. “And I’d really like to eat what you cooked.”

I manage a smile. He stands, pressing a kiss to my forehead.

#

I carried Mom’s suitcase into her apartment in upper Manhattan, cursing the broken elevator. Mom, for the most part, was glad to be out of the hospital.

She chatted away on the phone, smiling. “Of course I’ll be there. I’d be honored to. I’m well enough. I’ll bring my son along just in case, though,” she smirked at me and I rolled my eyes. “He’s doing quite well. No, Laura, he has no new partners that I know of.” She winked at me. “All right, take care now. Bye.”

She hung up.

“What are you roping me into this time?” I ask.

“Sadly, that was one of the ladies from the book club. They’re having a party for me at Lady M’s this weekend.”

“Mom!”

“I’ll get you pie, but you’re going.”

“It’s not going that’s the issue,” I groan. “They’ll be pinching my cheeks and disregarding any hint, obvious or otherwise, that I’m gay. The last time I went, Mrs. Bracegirdle tried to set me up with her daughter.”

I shudder. Her name was Lobelia, her sense of fashion was awful, and her personality worse. Even if I was straight, I’d _never_ go for a girl like that! Thankfully, Dwalin was up the street that day and he was kind enough to rescue me.

Mom hummed. “Well, I’m sure they know now. Mrs. Bracegirdle found your obvious distaste for Lobelia rather insulting. The last time she came to one of these functions, I almost broke her nose.” She patted my cheek. “No one insults my baby and gets away with it.”

I am so glad no one is here right now. I may need to meet up with Thorin for the sake of saving me from scary old ladies this weekend and I take my phone out to text him said plan.

_S.O.S. Mom’s dragging me off to a tea party Saturday. Start planning rescue mission._

That should do it.

“Do you still have the red jacket I got you for Christmas?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“I suggest wearing that and your green waistcoat on Saturday.”

“Nori would cry if he heard you right now,” I say, collapsing onto the couch.

“Why? You look dashing in waistcoats.”

“He and I have very different ideas of what’s fashionable.” My phone buzzed.

_What time? You could say you got roped into helping at the potluck at my church._

I quickly text back: _Most likely 4 PM and that’s too suspicious. Plan B?_

“Who are you texting?”

“My kinky stripper,” I say laying on the sarcasm nice and thick. Mom slapped the back of my head. “Ow.” A new message popped. “Am I not allowed to joke?” I ask, checking the message.

_Have roommates kidnap you like in the good old days. I’d do it myself but I’m ordained. I can’t do any kidnapping._

I wouldn’t have guessed he’d be this bad at brainstorming. _Mom would then tear apart Manhattan._

“Thorin?”

I grin.

“If you’re trying to get your priest to help you get out of tea with my friends, Bilbo, so help me, I’ll have you on my knee.”

I slump my shoulders. “Fine.” _Caught. Abort mission._ “I told him to forget about it.”

“Good. Hand it over.”

“What?”

Mom took my phone out of my hands.

What am I?! A teenager?!

She smirked, quickly typing on my phone. I’ve got to hand it to her. Unlike some old people she’s not that bad at texting. She hands me the phone and I’m quickly checking my outbox:

_Meet up after at 8 instead? 25 E 77th St. Semi-formal fyi_

“He’s gonna know it wasn’t me. There’s a potluck that day at the church—” My phone alerted me to a new text from Thorin:

_See you there._

Mom patted my shoulder. “The potluck will be at noon, Sweetheart. Not at night. I’m sure a nice dinner date at the Mark will calm your nerves after being henpecked by a bunch of middle aged ladies. On me…remind me to make the reservations under your name.”

Not again!

“Mom, I don’t—” I sigh. “I’ll just shut up.”

She patted my shoulder again. “Hungry?”

#

Dehqan bounced the slinky between his hands, content for now as Balin and I spoke. Politics mostly. I don’t think Dehqan really cares…

He doesn’t talk very much, even when I asked about how school was going for him.

“His teacher informed me that he’s being teased for his accent,” Balin informed me, patting Dehqan’s head. “If it doesn’t stop by the time the year ends, I’ll transfer him to a school that is harder on bullying.”

“That might be wise,” I say, remembering the bullying I was subjected to after coming out. It’s different for Dehqan, but no less horrible. “Did you have to hear from the teachers or…”

“They called me after he started fighting with some older students at school.” Balin sighed. “And we talked about it…but…”

“But…”

“Well, I let him go to the Mosque. It’s only fair I support his heritage. Of course, I take him to Church on Sundays and the school he attends is Catholic…I’m worried he’s also being bullied for being a Muslim in a Christian environment.”

I grit my teeth. “Kids are cruel. They’ll grow up.”

“That’s no excuse as you know quite well.”

“No. It’s not an excuse and I do know that. But it doesn’t make it any less true. It may be false-evangelism. Maybe some of the kids are trying to befriend him yet are actually jumping down his throat, trying to force him into renouncing his faith…it may be better for him to attend public school so that there’s no specific interest in the religious stance, let him decide for himself. I’m not saying you should not to apply a Christian upbringing in his life, both Islam and Christianity are similar in some ways and it’d be best for him to be allowed to choose which to follow regardless what you believe.”

“I wondered if I ought to have done that before…I’ll keep that in mind.” Balin smiled. “Thank you, Bilbo.” I shrug, not sure if my input is as good as he thinks. It’s more…how I wish I was raised when I was Dehqan’s age.

“He asks after you, you know. He may not be talkative right now, but he does enjoy your company. I haven’t told him that you and Dwalin were partners. I don’t know if he’s ready for that kind of exposure. For those who aren’t accustomed to it or come from a background strongly opposed to homosexuality, a child could find it a shock.”

“I understand that. I would suggest doing so when he hits puberty…so that he is aware and knows that it’s as natural as heterosexuality.”

I stare at Balin, daring him to question me. He doesn’t. I wonder…does Dad actually put this much effort in trying to understand other gays he comes across? It just…apart from one or two misplaced words and misconstrued conversations…

A part of me wonders how many of us _want_ the people in our lives to homophobic. Or fuel an illusion that they are for the sake of having an outlet for our own rage.

What about me? What about my Dad?

Dehqan tugs on my sleeve, he points further down the road.

Thorin. We almost didn’t see him because he wore jeans and a polo shirt, his trench coat hanging off his shoulders.

 _Well, this’ll be awkward,_ I think.

Dehqan is already running, shouting in his native language. Thorin sees him and grins. With him are two little boys, a blond and a brunette. The blond seems to be twelve while the brunette is about Dehqan’s age, and runs at Dehqan, tackling into him.

“Kili!” Thorin shouts. The boys break apart, grinning sheepishly up at Thorin.

“Good afternoon, Father Durin.”

“Afternoon, Balin…who’s this?”

That hurt. I know he’s just acting, but it still hurt. What hurts more is that I also have to act. I manage a smile and hold my hand out toward him. “Bilbo Baggins,” it comes out calmer than I expected it would. “I’m a friend of Balin’s.”

“Thorin Durin, we attend the same church.”

Balin chuckles. “Thorin’s one of the parish priests at Saint Patrick’s Cathedral. He works mostly with the teenagers, which, I guess, Fili will be joining soon.”

The blond scoffed. “Whatever.”

“Fili…”

“What?” Fili moved away, a basketball tucked under his arm. He whistled. “Kili, Dehqan, c’mon!”

“Stay close!” Thorin shouted at the boys.

“I didn’t know he had befriended your nephews.”

“God help any who befriend those two,” Thorin muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If Dehqan gets into trouble, it’ll most likely be because of those two knuckleheads.”

“Stop being so grumpy,” Balin laughed. “It doesn’t suit you and it’s just an act anyway. You adore those boys as though they were your own.”

Thorin shrugged, smiling. “I do. That doesn’t mean I’m blissfully ignorant to what they do. I’ll let Frerin be the nutty uncle. And if their parents _want_ to be oblivious to their mischief, fine. I’ll just pick up the slack—FILI DURIN!!”

Well, I hope I never anger Thorin to the point where he looks like _that_. Fili catches the basketball that had escaped him and bumped into an elderly couple. He was talking to them now, perhaps apologizing, but Thorin wasn’t taking any chances of him getting out of it.

“I didn’t know a priest could be so…”

“Harsh?” Balin asked.

I nod. Let’s go with that.

“Thorin’s usually easy to get along with, but he’s fiercely overprotective of those two boys. As I said a moment ago: he loves them as if they were his own and not his sister’s.”

Thorin walked back toward us, having confiscated the basketball and steering Fili by the shoulder. The boy was trying to shrug him off, glowering.

“Sorry about that,” Thorin sighed, running his hand through his hair.

“Boys will be boys,” Balin said, nudging Thorin. “You were as mischievous yourself as a child. You and my brother both.”

“True…”

Balin walks ahead with the children, promising them ice cream. Thorin sighed, snatching my hand in his. “How are you? Really?”

I squeeze is hand. “Better now that there’s a little breathing room. So…you’re nephews?”

“Can be bratty, but overall they’re good kids. Fili’s…”

“Becoming a teenager?”

“Yes,” Thorin sighed. “That may be the best way to put it. He’s driving the whole family insane! Kili can be just as bad when his mind is put to it, but the two of them together…”

“You’ll live. You don’t have to deal with them twenty-four seven. Pity their parents.”

“Why? They can have them! I love those boys, but I don’t think I’d survive raising them. Half the time I find myself wondering how Dis does it. Especially now!”

 “Let me guess: parents needed a break and you had free time?” I tease, grinning.

“I suppose it’s a cliché?”

“Or a stereotype. Either way, it’s sweet.”

I released his hand, stuffing it in my pocket as Balin returns. Dehqan and Kili had chocolate cones while Fili scooped green ice cream out of a cup. Balin carried a coffee carrier with three cups. The fourth pouch had sugar and cream packets.

“Everything all right here?” Balin asked as Thorin took a cup and handed it to me.

“Yes,” I answer. “You could have told me that Thorin and Dwalin were friends.”

“Well, I didn’t think I needed to since I already did. At the funeral. Remember?”

“Oh yeah…” I say slowly, internally wincing. That was awful. Just awful. I drink the coffee, trying to save time. “We met there before, but I didn’t recognize him because he wasn’t wearing the collar.”

Thorin rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s nice to _not_ wear it once in a while. Especially when I go out with these two. One too many people have asked me quite rudely if Fili and Kili were mine. Easier to just leave the collar at home when I go out since they won’t judge me for being around two kids alone…”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, resisting the urge to embrace him. I’ve never seen Thorin display such strong emotions before now.

He must really love his nephews. (Or they just get on his nerves _way_ too easily.)

Balin checked his watch. “Is that the time already! Dehqan, it’s time to go home.”

Dehqan pouted. He bade goodbye to me, and then to Kili, making promises to see each other again at school tomorrow before heading off with Balin.

I feel eyes on me and I turn to Fili. He smirks. “You’re Uncle Thorin’s type,” he announces. _Why the little…_ “Right Ki?”

“Meh…”

Thorin tugged on Fili’s ear. “What nonsense are you spewing this time?!”

“What? He _is_ your type! Just because you’re celibate don’t mean you don’t have to look!”

Thorin groaned.

“Maybe I should go,” I mumble into the cup.

“So you’re not gay?” Fili asked, breaking out of Thorin’s grasp before his ear could get twisted.

“Fili!”

Fili was already beyond reaching distance. Thorin slumped his shoulders. “I am _so_ sorry…”

“Funny kid…” I mutter.

“He thinks so…”

 I laugh. “Well, he’s rather perceptive. I wonder what gave me away.”

“Nothing, likely. He knows I’m gay, and he probably jumped to a conclusion based on that—”

“So,” I smirk at him. “Am I your type?”

Thorin blushes. “Well…”

“Yes,” Kili said. “Are you his boyfriend? I won’t tell! Promise!”

I glance at Thorin. He standing behind the boy and shaking his head, making talking motions with his hands. _Kid can’t keep a secret if his life depended on it_ , is probably the rough translation.

“We just met, Kili,” I tell him instead, watching Thorin’s shoulders slump. He looks a little ill. Kili pouted.

“Well…if you decide to date Uncle Thorin, I’m okay with it.”

“Kili…”

“What?”

“I’m a priest.”

“But lots of priests get married.”

“Protestants allow it, yes. But, Kiddo, I’m a Catholic priest. We take a vow that demands we not marry or have any romantic relationships.”

Ironic how a serious thing such as a vow can easily be broken. More ironic is that we haven’t done anything besides kiss.

(Not that I mind. I could spend hours kissing that man if I wanted to.)

“That’s lonely.”

“That’s the sacrifice we decide to take.”

“Why not just be prawn testers then?”

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing. Prawn testers! That’s adorable!

“And make grandma cry?” Thorin countered. He shook his head. “You know that’s _never_ a good idea.” Kili hummed, nodding his head.

“Yup. Not a good idea at all.”

Thorin ruffled Kili’s hair. Clearly he’s Thorin’s favorite of the two…if he dared to admit to committing “the sin of favoritism.”

“Go get your brother.”

“Can I embarrass him?” Kili asked, a naughty grin spreading on his face.

Thorin sucks in a breath. “He deserves it.”

“Yeah!” Kili ran off after Fili.

“Giving him permission to be a brat?”

“He asked first!”

“What will your sister say?”

“Nothing if I get out of dodge fast enough. And yes.”

I frown, knitting my brow together. “Yes?”

“You are my type.”

I shove him. “Are you trying to be sappy?”

“Is that how it sounds?”

“Yes.”

“Then I am being sappy.”

“You’re also giving your nephews reason to suspect even though you just asked me to lie to Kili about us.”

“They’ll care a lot less compared to my older relatives, trust me. And they do know I’m gay, so it doesn’t bother them.”

“Doesn’t your family…”

“Fili makes sure that Kili keeps his mouth tightly shut.”

“And that works?”

“Yes.”

“So if we admit to being in a relationship…”

“We’d have to let Fili know so he could remind Kili to never tell a soul. And if we do that, I’m afraid there will be more outings with Fili trolling us.”

“Knew it.”

We pause, staring at the brothers, grinning up at us. Well, Fili smirked. Kili scowled, arms crossed. Probably angry because of the lie.

That’s beside the point entirely though…

_When did they sneak up on us?!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Headcannon time!
> 
> I see Fili as the troll out of the two brothers. Kili is cute and mischievous, but he’s also a lot like Thorin and very astute. Fili on the other hand, is responsible when it suits him, but most of the time, he enjoys causing everyone around him grief. Especially if it’s his baby brother and favorite uncle. In other words: Fili is a troll in my head.


	9. Chapter 9

The boys waited for us to answer, come up with a proper lie which they could believe. I doubt Fili would be easily convinced and now, neither will Kili.

“You could’ve told us, Uncle Thorin,” Kili said, pouting.

“And why would they tell you?” Fili asked flicking his brother’s forehead, “you’d tell Mom when we see her next and knowing her, Grams would hear, so would Dad and Grandpa and the Miser.”

“Would not!”

“Miser?” I ask, glancing at Thorin.

“My grandfather,” Thorin sighed. He seemed resigned. “I thank God they do _not_ call him that to his face.”

“I can imagine how that’d be bad…”

“We call him Pops when he’s in the room,” Kili informed me, scowl having disappeared. Fili leaned on top of him, pressing down on his head. “Fili, get off!”

“Nah. Too comfortable.”

“One day I’ll be taller than you!”

“And I’ll still be older, Noob.”

Thorin pulled Fili off Kili. “That’s enough.”

Fili smirked. “How long have you two been together?”

“Fili…”

“What? It’s a fair question. You may leave the priesthood and get married to him. Don’t see why not.”

If only it were that simple…

“Have you all eaten?” I ask. “Other than ice cream?”

The trio shakes their heads.

“There should be a pizza place nearby…c’mon. My treat.”

Thorin furrows his brow at me and I lean into him.

“They know,” I say in a voice I hope sounds like stating something reasonable, “May as well talk to them about it over dinner.”

Thorin sighs, pulling his phone out.

“I’ll text Dis then, let her know. That way she won’t try to kill me when we arrive home later than planned.”

“Is your sister really that scary?”

“You’ve no idea…”

Kili latched onto my hand. “What’s your favorite kind of pizza?”

“Supreme, but I’ll eat any kind of pizza.”

“I like meat lovers. Favorite soda?”

“Top three is Coke, Dr. Pepper, and Mountain Dew.”

“Root Beer. Ice cream?”

“Vanilla. You can add whatever you want to it.”

“Rocky Road.”

“Am I being interrogated.”

“Yes. But Fili will ask the really hard questions over dinner.”

Oh boy…I wonder what he means by “hard.” Embarrassing, maybe…

I glance at Thorin. He’s smiling in a sort of constipated way. Holding back his laughter, no doubt.

“Favorite breakfast food?”

“Waffles.”

“Pancakes or waffles.  Anything that requires syrup.”

“I can believe that. Are you only going to ask questions about the food I like?”

“Food’s important!”

“Well, yeah…that is true…”

Eventually he stopped asking me about the junk food I prefer heading into types of fruit and one question about vegetables. Apparently my tolerance for vegetables put him off, but at least I got the younger brother’s approval. Kid likes his food, it seems.

We arrive at _Mimi’s_.

The boys enter first, grinning innocently at the hostess as Thorin gets us a table, confiscating the basketball a second time, resting it between him and the wall.

Once seated, we get garlic bread as an appetizer and a round of soda—Coke for me and Thorin, Sprite for the boys—it was Fili’s turn to ask questions.

“How long have you been keeping your relationship secret?”

“Not long,” Thorin replies. “Couple weeks now…”

“How’d you meet?” The blond asks, leaning on the table.

 “Well, it depends what you mean,” I say. “We first met at the Church your uncle preaches at during a funeral…but didn’t see each other for a few months…”

“Until I accidently bumped into Bilbo a couple months ago and coffee was spilled on the both of us,” Thorin said, taking my hand underneath the table and giving it a firm squeeze.

The breadsticks and drinks arrived. The boys flashed a smile at the waiter and thanked her in unison.

I glance at Thorin, who shrugged. I can see these two becoming heartthrobs in the future. New York may be in danger…

“So…you knew each other for a couple months but didn’t start going out until a couple weeks ago?” Fili sounded incredulous.

“Do you think we’d have started dating the moment I made Bilbo spill his coffee all over us?” Thorin countered, arching an eyebrow at Fili.

“I suppose not…” he said. I thought that’d be the end of the interrogation, but he looks at me again. “What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a writer and blogger,” I reply. “People pay to read my online work and I’ve a couple books of poetry, a collection of short stories, and two books of essays.”

“Whoa,” the boys say, wide eyed.

“Any books in their range?” Thorin asks.

“I’m afraid not…”

“You should write something for kids then,” Kili states, blowing bubbles through his straw into his Sprite.

“I probably should, but that would take research into _how_ to write for kids.”

“ _Harry Potter_ is a good model,” Fili said, “And _the Hunger Games_.”

“I think _the Hunger Games_ series is for a slightly older audience, Fili,” Thorin said.

“Nah, its right up Fili’s alley. Kili may be a little young. But those are good models to use.”

“Not _Twilight_!” Kili shouted, earning a glare from Thorin.

I shake my head. “No. Definitely not _Twilight_ ,” I agree. I weep for humanity whenever those books are venerated. I will let others keep their opinions but mine will remain that that… _insult_ …

“I take it you’re not Christian?” Fili asked.

Kili wasn’t kidding when he told me Fili would ask the hard questions.

“No. I’m not.”

“Why?”

“Because I was judged unfairly for being gay,” I tell him, “Even by my own family. I decided that if _that_ was what Christianity was, I wanted no part of it.”

The brothers looked at each other.

“We can understand that,” Kili said. “It’s not okay to judge people for something they can’t change.”

Our waiter returns, asking us if we need more time…I completely forgot about food.

The boys order a double pepperoni pizza, a small pie (which is divided into six slices), to split. Thorin decides on Tortellini all Crema, and I get Chicken Primavera.

She leaves to send the orders to the chef and Thorin leans closer.

“I love you,” he whispered in my ear.

The room feels warmer and a smile creeps up my face. The hold Thorin still has on my hand tightens just a little.

“Fili, they’re being cute,” Kili whined. “Make ‘em stop!”

“Eh, it could be worse.”

I want to point out that it could be _much worse_ and scar them for life. It’d be easy. I’d just need to turn my head and kiss Thorin. I get the feeling they need to be scarred for life at least once…

Maybe later when they’re a little more used to me I’ll mess with them.

Our food arrived and Thorin, ever the role model—he didn’t bother with this when we were together—blessed the meal before allowing the boys to eat.

(I felt a little awkward. If it were just me and the kids I’d have let them dig in, no praying necessary.)

Between bites I managed to hold a conversation with Kili about school. He’s a third grader, managed to bring Dehqan “out of his shell.”

(He, apparently, has a hard time fitting in. Kili likes hearing about Afghanistan from Dehqan. “Sometimes I have to tell him to slow down because he starts talking to fast and it gets hard to follow what he’s saying,” Kili admitted. At least there’s someone at school who puts an effort in making Dehqan feel welcome.)

“…Inappropriate…”

I pause as the word passes my ears, holding my breath. It might not have anything to do with us. I hope to God that’s the case.

“…Far from all right…”

“…They have _children_ with them. What if…”

My hands are shaking and my teeth grinding. I stare at the plate, my fury building up.

 _Calm down Bilbo_ , I try to tell myself. I feel I am loosing focus.

“…Never should have been allowed inside…”

I’m pulled out of the fire building in my head by the sound of plates crashing, looking up. Kili is slumped in his seat, but straightens quickly, I see his foot dive back under the table.

“Sorry Mister!” he calls to the poor waiter staring open mouthed at an elderly couple.

The woman’s dyed red hair is dripping in tomato sauce which stains her blouse. Her husband is no less stunned.

Thorin sets a fifty dollar bill down on the table and we leave just as the restaurant breaks out into applause, basketball tucked under his arm. (I’m amazed in the frenzy he remembered it.)

The brothers pause to bow quickly before Thorin hands me the ball and pulls them outside.

“You two,” Thorin growled, “Better have your butts at Confession tomorrow.”

He’s trying not to grin. The boys nod, failing to seem contrite. When he turns his back on them, I see them smirk and bump fists. I start to laugh, unable to hold back my mirth.

“Regardless what your uncle has to say on the matter,” I begin tossing the ball from hand to hand, “I thought it was brilliant.”

Fili sniffed. “It’s rude. If anyone shouldn’t be allowed in the restaurant it was _them_.”

“Acting like that is un-American anyway,” Kili added.

“And they were calling you and Uncle Thorin pedophiles. That’s worse!”

“There are more mature ways to deal with the situation,” Thorin sighs.

“You kidding me?” I ask, passing the ball to Fili. “I was one word out of their mouths away from giving them a piece of my mind!”

“And how violent would that have become?”

“More than you would have liked it to be,” I admit, “If I got angry enough.”

Thorin shouted for the boys, demanding that they keep up.

The brothers raced after us. They skidded to a halt a little ways in front of us and then continued on at a walk in front of us.

“I am sorry about earlier,” Thorin whispered, squeezing my hand. “I didn’t expect that to happen.”

“Why? Because two homophobes were acting high and mighty? Or are you sorry because your nephews had the daring to put them in their place? I wasn’t lying when I said it could have gotten much more violent, Thorin. Even if they are kids, it means a lot more to me than you know.”

Thorin studied me.

“You went through that before?”

I nod. At my father’s church, at school…

Most don’t want to step up and come to another’s defense. And I was among those who believed they were in the right because they believe that _the Bible_ is absolute.

Thorin takes my hand back, kissing it.

A voice in the back of my head reminds me we need to be more careful. So far nothing has gotten us in trouble (unless you count Kili’s stunt back at the restaurant).

I glance toward the boys. They’re still ahead in our line of sight with their backs to us. I press against Thorin and kiss him, running my fingers through his beard.

I want him.

I want to make him feel amazing and I want…so much for what I we’re not quite ready for and I have to keep stretching my patience which already seems to be pulling taut.

_And when will everything fall apart?_

_Like it always does?_

I break away gently. I doubt he noticed my sudden feeling of reluctance.

“We should catch up to the boys,” I say, pulling away from Thorin.

_I don’t want this one to end like the others if it must end at all…_

#

Saturday came _way_ too soon for my liking.

I pass the day in normal jeans and a t-shirt, working at my desk with a beer bottle sitting beside the keyboard, fingers jumping from key to key to write a new article until it was time to get dressed and leave to meet Mom.

Nori took one look at me before I left and grimaced.

“Yes, I know,” I sigh, fixing my waistcoat. “Mom’s making me go to another tea party though.”

He sighed. “At least it matches…if it was Christmas time.”

Bofur snorted into his coffee.

I’m wearing brown slacks, a white long sleeve dress shirt and a forest green waistcoat beneath a royal red suit jacket.

I subtly flip Nori off when Bofur’s back is turned and escape the apartment, my raincoat held in the crook of my arm.

Lady M Confections is a quaint place, if I were to say anything about it, but certainly not a place I’d like to be personally. Especially since it’s generally overpriced.

But here I am, with Mom, pretending to have any interest in impressing spinsters and wealthy widows in her pearl pink suit with her hair pulled back in a bun.

“Belladonna! How are you dear?” Mrs. Chubb asked.

They greeted each other with kisses on each cheek.

“You look well for someone who just had a stroke.”

Mom chuckles, tilting her head to the side.

“Please, Chica, it will take more than a stroke to take me down.”

“So it seems,” Mrs. Chubb laughed.

She glanced at me and her smile widened. I brace myself.

“Bilbo Baggins! You get handsomer every time I see you.”

I nod.

“Thank you, Ma’am.” _Nip it in the bud_ , I remind myself. “May I take your coats, ladies? We shouldn’t keep the others waiting too long. And the weather’s turning foul.”

“If only Falco had _half_ your charm, Bilbo,” Chica sighed as her coat and Mom’s are piled on my arm. “I gave up trying to get him to come with me to our get-togethers…”

 _Blah, blah, blah, I don’t give a fuck but I’m feigning interest even though I’d rather be home jerking off to a certain priest_ , I think keeping a smile on my face and nodding at the appropriate intervals as Mom and Mrs. Chubb head to the table.

Oh wonderful.

There’s Mrs. Bolger, Mrs. Proudfoot, Mrs. Goodbody, Mrs. Boffin, and Mrs. Cotton…Mrs. Bracegirdle is wonderfully absent, thank God.

As expected, I’m the only _son_ present among three daughters. Pricilla Bolger, Laura Goodbody, and Dora Boffin have been dragged along as well. But the three women don’t bother to look my way.

Good.

Feigning interest only gets harder to do and I’m fighting a nasty headache by the third conversation about so-and-so’s cat Fluffy.

How the hell does Mom _do_ it?

“Bilbo.”

Damn. I hope I managed to look amenable as I turn to Mrs. Goodbody.

“Yes, Ma’am?”

“How have you been? You’re hardly ever stop by with Belladonna anymore I don’t get the chance to ask!”

_Somebody kill me…_

“There’s nothing to report. Another essay’s online. I’ve another book of poetry in progress…”

“Delightful!” she turned to the others. “Bella’s boy is quite talented with a pen—of course that’s a _metaphorical_ phrase in this day and age—I’m always on the lookout for his next book…”

_Gun. Mouth. Now._

“Bilbo is, yet again, trying to be mysterious,” Mom says. “There is nothing wrong with receiving condolences, Bilbo.”

_Oh, the hag!_

“Condolences?” Mrs. Boffin asked.

I swear, my mother…

I don’t know what to do with her. I fold my hands and lean on the table.

“It was about eight months ago when my partner passed away overseas.”

I give them their pause for dramatic and fake pitying sighs.

“I’m over it.”

“I’m so sorry, Bilbo.”

“Pity we never had the chance to meet him,” Mrs. Proudfoot said, stirring sugar into her tea cup.

 _And you’d_ hate _Dwalin_ , I think. _He’d not survive in here anyway_.

“But, as I said, it was about eight months ago. I’ve had time to come to terms with his passing.”

“I heard from Adamenta Bracegirdle that your partner was part of a biker gang…”

This got their interest. Dear God, are they thinking of Pony Boy Curtis or something?!

“Well, I can see where she’d think so, but no. He wasn’t a gangster of any sort. _Nor_ was he a brute. I’m sure she said something along those lines as well,” I promise them.

A few more sighs.

For the love of all that is mighty, what is with these cougars?!

Jesus, what the hell got into Mom?

The stroke must have really addled her brain if she thinks it was okay to do _that_. I will definitely be yelling at her first chance I get, dutiful son or not. She definitely brought that up to watch me squirm.

Probably because of the grief I gave her last week about going to this tea party.

That doesn’t make it any more okay.

At least I can whine to Thorin at dinner tonight.

My phone vibrates. Thorin! The old bats have turned away from me and their daughters are more interested in their tartes aux fruits.

_How’s the tea party?_

I sigh, texting quickly. _Awful. How’s the potluck?_ And send…

Mom is glaring at me. I glower back and she turns away, smiling at something Mrs. Proudfoot says.

_We just finished cleaning up the Church. Finally had the chance to say hello. Sorry to hear it’s going bad._

I smile, staring at the screen. _It just got infinitely better. I’m being ignored at the moment anyway. Could be worse…_

“And what exactly has you lighting up so brightly?” I gasp, blushing. Damn. I’ve been caught. Seems it was just Dora though. She smirked. “Relax. I’m not going to draw attention to you again. If anything, it was rude what your mother did. If _my_ mother did that, I don’t think I’d have been able to take it with the grace you did just a few moments ago…Was that your new partner?”

I nod. “I’d rather no one here know…Mom understands that and, _thankfully_ , decided to have a little bit of sense today.”

“Not from what I’ve seen,” Dora said, her painted nails tapping the tea cup in her hands.

My phone buzzes. “Do you mind?” I fight the wince.

“No, go ahead.”

_What do you mean worse?_

I text him a quick explanation. No need to get into full details later.

“Whoever your new man is, he must be something if he can make you smile like that. How long have you been together?”

I tell her. The next text is rather long. Seems he’s a thing or two to say about Mom’s…indiscretion.

“Is that true?” Mrs. Boffin asked. All eyes are on me again. Shit. “You have a new partner?”

Mom is shaking her head, hiding behind a hand.

If I didn’t feel so rigid, I’d try to sink in my seat and maybe, if a catfight broke out, I could sneak away…

Dora sends her mother a glare I would usually reserve for my father. “I don’t see how Bilbo’s love life is anyone’s business, Mother.” She isn’t even directing it at me and I feel the room’s lost its warmth.

I fight down a shiver.

Dora seems smug when the women turn back to their small talk seemingly disappointed in the refusal for more development.

“I owe you.”

“No. You don’t. Being dragged to tea parties is in no way fun for anyone save them and they only have gossip to talk about. I am sorry for your loss, Bilbo, and I wish you joy in your new relationship.”

I think I could get along with Dora at least, given time.

#

“I _can’t_ believe your mother did that!” Thorin exclaimed not for the first time tonight, scowling. I don’t think I’ll get used to how frightening he actually looks when peeved.

“Well she did.”

“I’d expect that from my mother, but after all the positive things I’ve heard about yours I’m appalled!”

“I’m sure there was some revenge scheme going on there, but other than complain about being forced to go to the damn party where they serve overly priced cakes I can’t think of what I did to make her act like that.”

“You’re having fun with this.”

“It was a few hours ago and it’s actually rather fun watching you rant,” I admit, grinning at him from behind my wine glass.

“It doesn’t make it right.”

“No. And I am not saying it does. It may be a while before I can forgive my mother for that stunt. Regardless she is my mother and I love her.”

Thorin blinked and leaned back. “Forgiveness comes easier to you than it does me then.”

I furrow my brow. “I doubt that, Thorin—”

“So you say, but even now I find it hard to forgive my grandfather for his greed. You’ve not seen me with my family and a part of me hopes you never do.”

The soft piano music and the sound of cutlery is the only break in the silence surrounding Thorin and I. I always forget that behind the collar is a man as vulnerable and capable of sin as the rest of us.

And I don’t love him any less with each admission of his faults.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If smut make you a twinge uncomfortable in any way, skip down to the first hashtag.

The conversations shift to politics.

Then to how our days were _before_ Mom’s tea party.

If I were to sum up that conversation, I could say that both our days were uneventful at most...We both worked—I at my computer, him at the Church helping out at the pot luck. The most interesting thing that happened at the potluck had been when Fili’s basketball landed in the punch bowl by Kili’s doing in an attempt at getting his older brother in trouble.

But Kili’s too well known as a trouble maker for his signature puppy eyes to work on his mother.

“That bad?” I ask.

“The punch splashed everywhere. And the bishop was standing right there!”

I wince and try to hold back my laugh. “That’s not good.”

“No. It’s not. It’s funny now but _then_ , if it were possible for me to lose my job over something my nephews did I think I would have. Dis took care of Kili while I groveled. He just waved me off. ‘You’re nephew’s still young, and no one’s _really_ hurt. But maybe it’d be good to teach him a little self control.’” Thorin shrugged. “I really couldn’t respond any other way than ‘Yes, Sir.’ I was just so glad my ass was not going to pay for Kili’s behavior.”

I nod. “I’m so glad I’m self-employed.”

“Enjoy the freedom of having no boss to impress.”

“I _do_ enjoy it. And I laugh at my roommates each and every time they complain about their bosses…did you just say ‘ass?’”

“I did. _Not_ a _word_.”

“I’ll just say I’m a bad influence and leave it at that,” I say, smirking at him.  Thorin rolled his eyes. “What? I’ve never heard you swear before. It has to have been me…I try.”

“Well, maybe. I’m more likely going to blame that one incident where I got angrier than I’ve ever been and shocked everyone I knew with the litany of swear words I accessed back in elementary school.”

I hide my smile behind a fist. “What?”

“I, uh,” he blushed. “I hadn’t decided to be a priest yet and it was either third or fourth grade.”

“I’m guessing Dwalin had something to do with it too?”

“He dared me and I never backed down from a dare before I decided to become a priest.”

“Why am I now hearing about this?” I demand.

“Because it’s actually embarrassing…”

“It is _not_. I didn’t start swearing until I was thirteen…at least, and even then, I never dared _once_ to swear at anyone I knew. At the computer was another story.”

“Of course.” The check comes and I pay, not giving Thorin a chance to look at the receipt. Nearly ten minutes later, we leave.

Thorin pulls me aside.

“Thorin?”

He leans down, pressing his cheek to mine. “I’ve given thought to having sex with you. Several times.”

Oh.

Well.

I swallow. “And?”

“If you’re all right with it, I would like to have sex with you. Tonight.”

“You sure?”

“Very.”

“But tonight?”

“Yes. Tonight.”

I swear, I thought it was going to take a lot longer for him to get comfortable with the idea, so I’m not sure whether to dance for joy or hit the brakes.

“Okay,” I say, pulling out my phone to search for a hotel. “Comfort Inn is on the other side of the park, now…” another search leads me to the closest drug store. Westside Pharmacy.

Two minutes away from the hotel. I lead Thorin through the park. There’re plenty of people about. The sky is a dark blue and darkening to black. Thorin waits for me in the store, circling the aisles and pretending we were there on different agendas.

After I buy the condoms, I wait a minute before texting him to come out, following me to the hotel.

He waits in the lobby while I get a room for us. The secrecy is kind of killing me, but I live with it, leading him to our first floor room.

Thorin sits on the King sized bed’s side facing the desk area while I remove the lube and condom box from the bag, setting them on the bedside table. I glance at him and frown.

“Are you nervous?”

Thorin looks up at me and nods. It’d be impossible for him to lie right now. His hands are unsteady and his eyes are lit with uncertainty.

I straddle his lap, kissing him gently.

“Don’t be. I’ve got you. We aren’t going to do anything heavy tonight, but let me know if it’s too much or if I’m going too fast or hard.”

He nods again and I give him another kiss.

My fingers poke Thorin’s shirt buttons through the holes, revealing his chest bit by bit. I pull the shirt free of his pants and remove the last buttons before pushing his shirt off his shoulders.

I slide off his lap, kneeling between his legs to remove his belt and loosen his slacks, gripping his half-hard cock in my hand. I lift my eyes to his face and wrap my lips around the tip.

Pleased to see his eyes widen just a bit, I suck on him, poking my tongue into the slit before sliding more of him inside my mouth, rubbing my tongue against the underside of his cock, sucking a little harder. My hand massages his scrotum. I hear him whine, one of his hands seizing my hair, not pushing me further down or pulling me off. With a moan, I release him with a kiss over the slit.

I stand again and strip. Thorin stares at me, gaping. I push him down onto the bed climbing on top of him. I guide his hand to my groin.

He is slow and tentative, cupping my scrotum first. I kiss him, pressing into his hand. Encouraged, his hand moves to my penis, sliding up to the tip, thumb pressing against the slit, and back down. His movements are picking up in pace as he gains more confidence.

I kiss his breast, nipping at his nipple and running my hand through the thick black hair over his chest and stomach. I pull away from him, seizing the lube and pressing it into his hand. He stares at it.

“Spread it on your hand.”

Thorin swallows and opens the bottle, squeezing the substance onto his hand, coating his hand in a film of it. I get off him and let him shift to stand behind me. He slides his fingers inside me and I clench around the appendages at first, startled by the burn I had almost forgotten about.

“Bilbo?” I relax. “Bilbo?”

“It’s okay,” I assure him. “Take your time.”

His finger rubs against the interior wall. Against the taut ring, I feel his other finger venturing to slip in and the slight burn returns. My fingers fist the sheets. I wonder if I should give him some instructions, but, as before, he gains more confidence and the muscles of the area are stretched.

_Perhaps he researched?_

Thoughts flee my mind the moment his fingers rub against my prostate. It’s light. There is enough pressure to feel his fingers, but not the amount of hard pounding I’m used to. His fingers pull out of me and I whine, mourning the loss.

He reaches over me, seizing the condoms, and rips one free. I turn over, watching him stroke the covered flesh with more lube. I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him closer, gripping his shoulders. I feel him press his cock against my hole and push in.

My back arches and my nails dig into his shoulders.

I’ve missed this.

 _How I’ve missed this_.

My breathing deepens. I close my eyes, relishing in feeling _full_ again.

I beg Thorin to go faster. He complies, shifting his hips slightly and ramming into my prostate each time he thrust back in.

I feel him kiss my exposed neck below the Adam’s apple. I feel the scratch of his beard and puffs of hot air against my skin. His hand takes mine, pressing it to the bed.

His other hand seizes my cock. Nearly half a dozen strokes pass before my back arches again and my orgasm rips through me, covering my stomach and chest in cum. The aftershock leaves me shivering in his arms. With groan, he reaches his own climax.

He pulls out of me, rolling onto his back.

My arms shake as I sit up.

“So?” I ask, smirking. So I feel a little cocky. Shoot me.

“Um…”

Ah.

Speechless.

Good sign.

Thorin manages to sit up, removing the condom and tying it off. I hear the water run. When he returns, he wipes the cum off me.

“How—”

“Google search.”

I snort, laughing into my pillow.

 “Well, whatever site you found must have helped.”

“I had to do so at home when no one else was around or when they were all asleep,” Thorin admitted, scowling as he tossed the cloth back into the bathroom. “Needless to say, the whole ordeal was awkward.”

“I bet it was _very_ awkward.”

Thorin shrugged, throwing an arm over my waist. He kisses my shoulder and I grip his hand with mine, pressed to my chest, closing my eyes and drifting to sleep.

#

It’s a little cold when I wake up and I frown, sitting up.

Thorin is gone.

Resting on the pillow he had used is a folded slip of paper. I pick it up.

_Bilbo, I’m sorry I left before you woke. I had to leave early if I was to get to mass on time…_

I furrow my brow, wondering what the hell he’s talking about. When I realize his meaning, I feel a bit like an idiot for forgetting that he works most Sundays if not every Sunday.

_…I’ll call after the service ends. There are no words to describe how incredible last night was. I love you._

_—Thorin_

I am glad I’m the only one in the room otherwise I’d probably have to explain why I’m smiling like an idiot. I get up and take a shower. I’m limping slightly, but not enough to draw suspicion from Bofur and Nori when I get back.

Good.

I’d rather they _not_ know where I was last night. It’s not their business anyway.

I dress, deciding to shower at home. My clothes don’t smell _that_ bad, even if I feel like cringing. I check my phone. Several texts, and nearly five…six angry messages.

From Nori.

And he says _I’m_ their mother.

I send him a text reminding him that I’m a grown adult who doesn’t need him to worry about me. I’m not even out of the hotel yet when my phone rings.

“Hello?”

“ _Where have you been?! Bofur and I’ve been worried!_ ”

“What part of ‘it’s not your business’ escapes your mind?”

“ _The part that tells me you’ve forgotten about your stalker._ ”

Oh yeah. “Um…good point.”

“ _So?_ ”

“I said you had a point. I never said I was going to tell you shit. Besides, as you can hear, I’m alive. I’m _fine_. I’m heading home right now.” Silence. “Nori?”

“ _You slept with Thorin didn’t you?_ ”

I blush. “Keep your nose out of my love life. Which includes my sex life,” I growl.

“ _He any good_?”

 _Damn it, Nori_.

“How are you so sure that he did me and not the other way around?”

“ _You may be versatile, my friend, but you prefer to bottom. And given it’s his first time, you probably let it be extremely vanilla or something like that—_ ”

 “Goodbye Nori.”

I hang the phone up and shake my head. I am going to strangle my ginger roommate. At the moment, I will admit that I’m strangling my phone, but damn it, I’m going to stick my foot up Nori’s ass! Okay, he was oddly on the money with what happened last night and the way it went…which does make me wonder about him…but otherwise I’m gonna kill him!

It’s not like I bug him about his sex life! (I don’t even have to. It’s a little annoying how I can hear him and Bofur _through the fucking wall_.)

I stop at a coffee shop for breakfast on the way, letting my anger dissipate as I continue on. The sky threatens to rain.

I have luck on my side, though, because the downpour doesn’t start until I’ve stepped up to the door. I’m a little drenched, but nothing a hot shower won’t fix.

Bofur smirks at me from the couch. “Young man, it is _way_ past curfew—”

“Shut up.”

“Did you really defile a priest last night?”

“ _Shut. Up._ ”

“That bad?”

I almost answer, but catch myself, opting to glare at him instead. I pick up a pillow and throw it at his head, heading into my room to pick out fresh clothes and then jump in the shower. Once warm, clean, dry, and dressed, I head to my room.

“Really though, we were freaking out,” Bofur said. “Nori demanded I yell at you in his place since he got rushed into the emergency room today.”

“Again, I’m an adult and the whole stalker issue is being taken care of. Besides, I told Nori this and I might as well tell you: I don’t need your permission to ride my boyfriend’s cock at a hotel. Besides, the hotel’s technically closer to where he works than our place…I think. That and I figured you’d like to get sleep rather than hear me moaning Thorin’s name.”

Bofur wrinkled his nose and leaned forward, image settling in his head. “Ugh! Christ, Bilbo!”

I could tell him I hear him and Bofur and that I’ve figured out their “schedule” but I figured I’d be nice this once and just laugh.

I collapse on my bed, checking the clock: ten till noon. I won’t have to wait long for Thorin to call, then. Unless mass ends later in the day…I don’t think it does…

Does it?

Is there a difference between when Mass ends or—

My phone alerts me to a caller and I answer.

“Hello.”

“ _Bilbo, did you get my note_?”

I smile. “Yes, Love. I got it. So. ‘Incredible?’ That’s all you have to say?”

“ _I was at a loss for words._ ”

“Well, I guess you can’t really go around calling me a god. I’ll let it slide.”

“ _Hilarious._ ”

“You know I’m funny. How was Church?”

“ _Boring. As usual, but no one said my job didn’t have its perks. For instance, free food and alcohol._ ”

“I do not count communion as actual food and drink,” I say. “Do you have another mass to attend today? Or tonight?”

“ _I do_ ,” Thorin admits. “ _But I was thinking perhaps seeing you tomorrow afternoon at your place?_ ”

“Well it’s not like I’ve really got anything important to do…maybe getting groceries, but I’ll be doing that in the morning anyway.” Silence. “Thorin?”

“ _I kind of feel bad for making you pay for so much last night._ ”

“It’s fine. I put it all on my credit card. I’ll just worry about it when the bill comes.”

“ _Are you sure?_ ”

“Yes, Thorin. No harm no foul.” _Yet_. No need to worry about expenses that haven’t affected me yet.

“ _All right_ ,” he doesn’t sound convinced. “ _I’ll talk to you later._ ”

“Okay. Bye.”

“ _Bye_.”

I lower my phone, staring at the ceiling. If I concentrate, I can feel his weight…I stand and exit my room. Might as well make lunch for me and Bofur. We should still have some turkey slices…

“Hungry?” I ask him as I head to the kitchen, looking inside the refrigerator.

“Famished.”

#

Nori collapsed on the couch after returning home, groaning. “Bofur…”

“I sent him to get more salad dressing,” I said.”

“No! Don’t make me eat greens!”

I sigh. “You’re as bad as your brother,” I mutter. “Relax, Nori, We’re having steak roast.”

“That’s more like it! Ow…”

“You okay?”

“Back ache,” he whined. “So…you finally dehymenated your priest last night.”

“ _No_.”

“Come on, I’m invalid and my baby’s gone to the store. At least tell me it was worth it.”

I roll my eyes, entering the living room. Nori had not removed his coat yet. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

“You’re dating a _really_ hot Catholic priest. Why would you _not_ want to brag?”

“For the same reason you don’t brag about your sex life with Bofur.”

“True, but my reasons for keeping my lip shut have more to do with that I don’t want anyone getting jealous and stealing him from me.”

“Bofur’s _way_ too loyal. Besides. You could _always_ finalize it. Make the claim you have on him permanent. All you’ve got to do is say four cheesy words while on one knee and looking at him with puppy eyes, holding a tiny box with a metal circle in it and Bofur would probably drag you out of the room you’re in so quick that no one will know what hit them.”

Nori glared at me. He sighed and sat up, sticking his hand in his coat pocket, handing me a small velvet coated box. I open it and my mouth drops. There really isn’t any other reaction I could have.

The ring is a white band with a blue stone held in by sharp edges.

“Is this silver?”

“White gold,” Nori corrected, “With a tanzanite stone. Not as dark as Sapphire.” I give it back to him. “I have it…it’s just…I can’t seem to find the right time. He’s too tired from work and then there the times I get called _in_ and…”

He sighs, putting it back in his pocket.

My head is spinning. My best friend wants to propose to my other best friend who is his partner. Okay I know I predicted that if anyone was going to any proposing any time soon, it’d be Nori, but seeing that he is actually _half way_ to the proposing…

I pace the room.

“Bilbo?”

“I’m fine. How long have you been carrying that around?” Nori shifted his eyes downward. “Okay…new question: when the hell did you change your mind about marriage?”

“A month ago a patient of mine…she passed. Cancer. We…got to know each other, you know.” Nori slouched. “She told me, ‘I understand that you’re afraid of getting married.’ And you know me, I was _terrified._ ” I nod. He was. “As you can guess I was freaking out. She went on to say, ‘Marriage is not about you. It’s about giving all that you are to your partner. You love him and if you’ve been together as long as you have, then you may as well be married because you’ve already given your life to him.’”

“Smart lady.”

“Married for twenty years. Her husband couldn’t show up all the time, but…” He sighed again.

“Bofur will say yes. You know that right?” I ask, sitting beside him. “He loves you, Nori. And he _wants_ to marry you. You know that as much as I do. You’ve fought about it enough times since same-sex marriage was legalized. Some would think he’d just give up and leave. Sometimes I wondered…” Nori glares at me. I shrug. “I guess that what matters is that he hasn’t. Telling him you changed your mind is going to make him fall in love with you all over again.”

“If I ever get around to it…”

I pat his shoulder. “Other than writing my blog and whatever else I’ve got saved on my laptop, what do you think I do with my day?”

“I’m scared now.”

“Relax. It won’t be embarrassing. I’m not my mother…even if many think I am. Besides, knowing you and Bof, the more private the better. Right?”

Nori nods.

“There you go. There’s step one: it’s got to be here.”

“At the apartment.”

“I’ll just stay at a hotel or at mom’s…probably a hotel.” Yeah, I’m still a little miffed with her to shack up for a night or two. The door unlocks. I stand. “I should save the roast. Bofur! Did you—”

“Creamy ranch dressing for a Mr. Bilbo Baggins,” Bofur said, tossing me the bottle. “Why are you giving us greens again?”

“Because I like torturing you and Nori. It’s too much fun.”

“You’re not as funny as you think, Baggins,” Bofur snapped at my retreating frame. “Hey, Love. You just get home?”

“About ten minutes ago.” I pretend to gag when I hear them kiss.

“Why is your coat on then?”

“Because I neglected to take it off…”

I tune out their conversation, setting the table. “Get your butts in here and eat what I’ve made you,” I snap at them.

If Bofur notices I’m a bit off, he says nothing.

I’m anxious for them. It’s nothing compared to how Nori’s feeling, I know.

Still, it’s not every day you find out your friends’ may be getting married in the future.

And it makes me wonder…

What sort of future might I have with Thorin?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The engagement ring is 18K white gold with tanzanite (blue) stone. The original ring (featured below) is sterling silver with a peridot stone: 
> 
> http://www.gemvara.com/jewelry/double-edged-ring/mens-round-peridot-sterling-silver-ring/fj1w6#customize


	11. Chapter 11

I drain the pasta, adding it to a large bowl before adding the peppers, onions, parsley, and artichoke hearts above, grabbing wooden salad tongs and tossing the mix lightly before adding two tablespoons to the salad and mixed again before covering the bowl with plastic wrap and placing it in the refrigerator.

With the salad done, all I need to focus on now are the sandwiches. A slightly more complicated recipe which included frying sliced tomatoes in the _oven_ of all things…remember when grilled cheese sandwiches just involved…you know… _cheese_?

Not anymore.

I suppose it makes it more fun to add herbs and tomatoes to the mix, if you think about it a little.

Yeah. It’s more fun.

Besides you get to use the _oven_ to roast _tomatoes_.

That’s always fun.

“Hello?” Nori called.

“Bofur’s still at work,” I reply, preheating the oven and setting the timer for ten minutes. “Why are you home? Thorin is coming over for lunch?”

“I switched to the night shift.”

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“I know…either way, it’s time to make good on your promise and _help me_.”

I snort. “Get a notepad or something. And a pen.”

He obeys, sitting at the table still in his dark blue scrubs.

“Okay, for a genuine answer, I would suggest…a private setting. Like home rather than somewhere public. Nor should it be cheesy. He might think you’re joking.”

Nori whined in the back of his throat.

“Relax, I’m not _that_ cruel.”

“Yes you are!”

“I promise to be nice. Now, I think you’re going to want to surprise him. Like…really surprise him…so I suggest surprising him when he comes home. The apartment will be clean, if you’re up for it, flowers. Roses, preferably, uh…”

I scrunch my nose up. “Wear a suit.”

“Don’t you _dare_ make me wear a waist coat,” Nori snarled.

I frown at him. “I wasn’t _going_ to, but I might now.”

He shrinks in his seat, begging me to take pity on him.

I sigh, running my hand through my hair. “Just a basic suit. Dark blue or grey or black with a white or light blue dress shirt, top button open sort of thing.”

Nori furrows his brow and nods. “Not bad.”

“I learned from the master.”

The timer set off and I rescued the tomatoes removing the shriveled skins and peppering the top side with herbs and oil before flipping them over  and putting them back in for another ten minutes.

“I also suggest some streamers and a mix tape of the songs that make you think of him or he of you…you know what I mean.”

“Who knew you were such a romantic?”

“You’re writing them down,” I snap, “If you don’t like my ideas then you can chuck ‘em and I’ll give you some rope to hang yourself with.”

“Touchy. Did you drink too much last night or something?”

I groan. “No, but I do have a headache and I’m too lazy right now to get the aspirin.”

Nori sighed and stood.

“Where are you going?”

To get you fucking aspirin, Bitch!”

I laugh, peering over at the notepad.

Yeah.

He likes my ideas even if he mocks them. He even wrote down the streamers with the words “white and gold” beside them. Huh. That could be interesting. He’s also listing songs:

 _Anywhere_ , by Evanescence (Okay).

 _Kiss While Your Lips are Still Red_ , by Nightwish. (Nightwish has a song that might fit with a proposal setting? I’ll have to check that out, just in case…)

 _Kiss from a Rose_ , by Seal (one of the better ones).

 _Before the Dawn,_ also Evanescence…

“Here.”

“Thanks Mother,” I say, taking the little blue pill from him and getting a glass of water. He scratches another thing onto the list and I peer over his shoulder. “Papa Roach?”

“ _Forever_ is a good song!”

I nod. “Fair enough.”

What? It’d work.

“I also suggest food. You _can’t_ go wrong with food! Though I suggest getting a professional chef rather than your housekeeper.”

“Bombur?”

“Who else?”

I like cooking, but Bombur’s better at such events. I’ll volunteer to help. The oven beeps again and I take the tomatoes out.

“Well if Bombur’s gonna know then I may as well tell Bifur too. And my brothers.”

“Yeah. We could all hide, if that helps.” I turn one stovetop, placing a grill pan over it.

“Oh. Great. No pressure.”

I select four slices of bread, spreading the oil over the top of each slice before placing the bread side down on the pan.

“For you? Yeah. Lots. But like I said, a less public setting would allow his answer to be genuine.” 

I cover the two slices furthest from me with mixed Manchego, Gouda, and smoked cheddar cheeses (a good half of what remains in the bowl I used to mix them in is for after I top).

“Not that Bofur’s _going_ to say no.”

Following that are the tomatoes and the rest of the cheese.

“Would he?”

“ _No_ ,” I snap, placing the barren slices on top of the top layer of cheese. “He _wants_ to get married, Nori. He’s not going to say no to you. Especially if you go through all that. Some have done scarier stuff.”

Like the guy who gathered his friends and family and lip synched Macklemore when he proposed to his man. That was freaking adorable. Just beautiful.

And would scare my roommates to no end. Nori can’t dance. He can sing, but dance? And put it on YouTube?

No.

And Bofur? Well, like I said, less pressure is good.

I check the sandwiches…nope.

“So when’s Thorin supposed to be here?”

“Soon…do you mind if I tell him?”

“So long as he doesn’t tell Bofur, I don’t care. Go ahead and involve your priest.” He smirked. “Or should I say Chippendale stripper.”

I smack the back of his head lightly before rescuing the sandwiches.

Nori stood. “Well, I’ve a mix CD to make.”

I arch an eyebrow. “ _CD_?”

He rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Have fun,” I say to his back.

“I will.”

I have enough time to set the table, stashing the white apron in the drawer beneath the cupboard. I wring my hands, sitting at the table, staring at the clean plates and empty glasses.

Time moves slowly now that I’ve nothing to do.

I debate picking up a book when _finally_ someone knocks at the door and jump to my feet and open the door beaming at Thorin.

“That was fast.”

I blush, admitting the thought of getting a book while I waited for him to arrive.

Thorin kissed me. “Sorry for making you wait.”

“Nah,” I say. “It just _felt_ long. If anything, I probably finished cooking about five minutes ago.”

“And if you did get a book, which would you have chosen?”

“No idea… _Good Omens_ , probably. I don’t think you’d like it.”

Thorin laughed. “I already read it…back in the nineties. Bit…well, let’s just say I’m not likely to read it again.”

“Blasphemous?”

“Not the word I’d choose,” he admits, sitting at the table. “But along those lines.”

“So I was right: you didn’t like it.”

“Well, the angel was funny.”

I nod, opening the frig for the pasta salad.

“Azraphale is funny in his own way. Personally though, I like Crowley—the demon. Not because he’s a demon but because he’s rather efficient at what he does, he keeps an excellent home garden, and the sunglasses. Sunglasses trump everything.”

Thorin shakes his head. “I don’t even remember what the story’s about.”

“Crowley and Azraphale lose the antichrist.”

Yep. That about sums it up.

“Would you like something to drink? We have…”

An almost empty orange juice carton, a jug of milk also near to the end, half a bottle of wine, a pack of beer…

Oh.

“I’ll just have water,” he said before I can list the near nonexistent liquids.

I take both our glasses, also opting for water. Other than alcohol, there really wasn’t much of an option. Guilt twists my stomach.

_I should have gotten more drinks…_

“So…Nori got Bofur an engagement ring,” I say nonchalantly. I really don’t know how else to tell Thorin that.

“Really?”

I hand him his water. “Yeah. About time too.”

“How long have they been together.”

“A little over a decade.”

“Why _now_ then?” Thorin asked between bites. “Same-sex marriage was legalized two or two and a half years ago.”

I explain Nori’s revulsion to marriage, Bofur’s desire to be married, and what changed Nori’s mind in the end.

“Not sure if you want to help, but he and I were brainstorming ideas before you came.”

Soft cursing echoed from the other room, startling Thorin.

I sigh. “That’d be Nori. He’s working on a playlist for Bofur right now.”

“Not pulling stops.”

“After this long, he’d better not.”

“Well, I don’t know them as well as I’d like, but I’ll stand by you for moral support,” Thorin said piling salad on his plate.

I grin. “Thanks. I might need it with them and both their families crushing me. And I _mean_ crushing in a literal sense when it comes to Bofur’s brother.  Best chef in New York, but very fat.”

“Ah.”

“No you don’t understand, I mean _fat_. Nice guy, but yeah. I’ve no idea how he manages it in New York, but I don’t think anyone cares with how good his food is.”

“Well, I’ll try not to stare,” he says, smirking.

I snort, coughing.

“Are you okay?”

I nod, drinking my water.

“I am so sorry.”

“I’m fine,” I rasp, laughing and coughing at the same. “Actually I think you’ll like Bombur a lot. Nice guy. Just recently married…wife’s a sweetheart. Yeah, you’ll like Bombur. And Bifur. Ori, sure…Dori,” I wave my hand in a teetering motion. “Dori can be overbearing at times, but he means well.”

“Most parents are.”

“He’s Nori’s older brother.”

“Oh. Yet still overbearing? Annoying, maybe. I’d get that,” he grinned. He probably relished in annoying his siblings when he was younger. “But overbearing?”

“Nori will deny it but he’s the same way. He and his brothers are born domestics even if they pretend to hate each other.”

Thorin nodded, drowning the last bite of his sandwich with water. “Do you know when he’s going to propose?”

I shake my head. “Soon, hopefully.”

Nori can’t put off for much longer.

Thorin hummed and another curse, louder this time, draws our attention toward the living room.

I wonder if I should check on Nori and find out what’s wrong.

“Is Nori…”

“He’s fine,” I sigh. “Maybe he downloaded the wrong song.” Thorin accepted this answer.

After lunch, he helped me with the dishes and joined me on the couch, eyes closed and content as I massaged his head and wondered if something was on his mind. I kiss the top of his head. My fingers rub circles into his jaw, tingling from the sharp hairs of his beard. He hummed, titling his head back to kiss my mouth.

“You seem a bit distracted today,” I say. “Want to talk about it?”

Thorin sighed. “Want to? Yes. But it has to do with Confession.”

A million scenarios run through my head:

Someone admitted to murder, or abuses his wife, or fantasizes about his daughter.

All evil.

All making my blood turn to ice.

“Is it bad?” I ask, not knowing if I want the answer.

“Depends on your definition of bad,” Thorin says, adjusting to rest his head on my shoulder.

I lock my arms around his torso. I want to help him figure this out, if I can. I kiss his temple.

“ _Hypothetically_ ,” he said, “What would you do if a sixteen year old girl came to you, telling you she was pregnant and her parents were going to make her get an abortion otherwise she’d be disowned?”

My heart calms and my brain stops hurting, glad that it was none of the scenarios playing in my head.

“I would tell her that she had other options and her parents should know there are other options. It’s true she’s too young to take care of a child herself, but she can find a family who wants a baby since she is too young. Abortion isn’t the only option, nor is motherhood. There are many couples who want a child and she can find a pair who she can trust.”

“And if she already told her parents about this option?”

“Then I would start doubting her parents’ faith. But beyond that, is there really anything I can do? This hypothetical girl, does she want the baby?”

“No, but she doesn’t want to kill it either.”

“Hypothetically, if I was in this situation, I would talk to someone who could stop it, then. It’s her body, so her parents have no say in what she does with it unless it is physically harmful. And if they are Christians, then I wonder why her parents are acting Pro-Choice.”

“Her parents aren’t Catholic. She is.”

“It’s still her body, and it’s still her choice. If she doesn’t want to have an abortion, then she shouldn’t have to get one. I don’t know the circumstances of _how_ she got pregnant, but she does have options. She can get an abortion or she can find someone who can adopt her baby or she can raise the baby herself. It’s _her_ choice. Not her parents.”

“And if you were sworn to secrecy though you know breaking that vow could help her?”

“Thorin, there is no such thing as black and white. I know you have your vows, but if you’re put in a situation that may require you to break your vow to keep Confession sacred, then break it. I’m not a Christian and there are days I can’t even say I believe in God. But I can’t deny some of the things I have seen. There is definitely something at work, whether it’s God or the universe I don’t know, but if he’s given you a chance to prove you can _do_ something to help another, I’d do it, even if it means renouncing every vow in the book.”

Okay, maybe not the best thing to say.

I have to phrase this right.

“Maybe God…” I bite my lip, trying to think of the right words. “Maybe it’s time to stop following every vow to the letter and start doing what feels right. She doesn’t want an abortion. Fight for her. And I’ll fight with you.”

“That will take a lot more courage than you know.”

“Not as much courage as some have needed in the past,” I remind him, kissing his temple.

The phone rings. “Nori!” I call. He steps out. “What? Hi, Thorin.”

“Hi.”

“Get the phone.”

“Lazy,” he snaps, entering the kitchen. “Hello?”

I resume massaging Thorin’s head. Nori approached the couch.

“He’s right here,” he said, smirking at me.

I glare at him.

“Gandalf,” he clarified, handing the phone to me.

“Who’s Gandalf?”

“Private I and Bilbo’s grandpa’s fishing buddy.”

“Private I?”

“Hello?”

“ _Bilbo, my lad. I found your stalker.”_

“Who is he?”

Thorin sits up, staring at me and frowning. I’ll just explain after the call and I’m not looking forward to it.

_“He’s a photographer named Beorn Mechka. I’ve not approached him yet, but I’d not approach him without some caution. However, if you’re near a computer, look him up. His business is legitimate and rather well known…”_

I’m am being stalked by a photographer. There are so many jokes I could say about this right now…

“Thank you, Gandalf.”

“ _I will call again when I’m certain the police don’t need to be involved._ ”

Really no need for that…but glancing at Nori and Thorin, it’d be best to just accept it.

“Okay, thanks. Bye, Gandalf.”

“ _Goodbye, Bilbo_.”

I waited for him to hang up and then handed the phone to Nori.

“I should go,” Nori decides, taking the phone from me.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because I know when a domestic is about to begin.”

I glare at him and his retreating back. When the door closes behind him, Thorin turns to me.

“I don’t know about my family, but usually I don’t go asking your grandpa’s fishing buddy to spy on someone.”

“ _Find_ someone,” I correct. “And the whole situation is under control.”

“What is under control?”

I tell him about the two times I’d been followed, steadily watching the blood drain from his face and his eyes grow darker.

“Other than those two times, nothing happened. He didn’t send any mail. There were never any boxes with body parts in them—”

Thorin leapt to his feet. “That is beside the point!” he shouted, startling me. “You’re being stalked!”

“Only twice! I’ve not seen him since!”

“Do you know him?”

“No, I don’t.”

“So he just started following you around Manhattan!”

“Yeah—”

“You don’t recognize him from anywhere?”

“Thorin, I told you everything I know!”

“There has to be a logical reason for him to fixate on you! Stalkers don’t just choose to attach to someone and think they have a relationship with them! What if he tried to hurt you?!”

“I can take care of myself! I know who he is now—”

“And?”

“He’s a photographer—”

“Wonderful! For all you know, he’d probably been stalking you more than _twice_! Brought his _camera_ with him after he figured out where you lived!”

I stood. “Thorin, it’s not gotten that bad yet!”

“Enlighten me then!” He shouted, seizing my shoulders and shaking me. “Tell me how in _any_ situation getting stalked is good!”

“I never said it was! I hired a PI, didn’t I? We know his name and we know his occupation and apparently he has a website so…”

He pressed his forehead to mine, taking raspy breaths. His hands are shaking. “Why didn’t you tell me before now?” His voice is quiet.

I bite my lip, stroking his hair. I didn’t think to tell him, and I should say so but I can’t bring myself to speak it. “I didn’t mean to leave you in the dark. I’m sorry, Babe.”

Thorin kissed my forehead. “I’m sorry too. For losing my temper,” He sighed. “I love you, Bilbo. And I’m scared for you.” I tilt my head up, capturing his lips in mine.

“I love you too. And I do have it under control, Thorin. It’s not likely I’ll be confronting the bastard anytime soon and he hasn’t tried to hurt me. Okay?”

Thorin sighed again. “No. This is as far from okay as it can get. But I’ll trust you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: “Mechka” is the pronunciation of “Мечка” which is “Bear” in Bulgarian
> 
> http://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20080516052415AAbncTX


	12. Chapter 12

Thorin held the streamers steady for Bifur who taped them to the ceiling. The apartment looks like it’s the setting for a high school prom than where Nori will propose. Bombur and I were trying to fit as much as we possibly could on our dining room table around the three tiered cake Bombur made.

“It’s chocolate,” he told me as we set the table. “With strawberry filling and vanilla icing.”

“Dyed blue,” I note, staring at the cake.

It’s an indigo blue cake with thin black ribbons circling the bottom of the top two tiers and dotted in rhinestones. The bottom tier is circled by a black and white ribbon and a large diamond shaped rhinestone. _Congratulations on your Engagement Bofur and Nori_ is written on the platform where the cake stood in chocolate icing

“Yes, well, why not? It’s Bofur’s favorite cake and all this is edible.”

“The things people make for food…”

“You’d never believe it,” Bombur agrees, patting my shoulder. “I don’t think we’re going to get everything on here.”

“Probably not,” I agree. “We could move the larger items to the counter.”

“Sure.”

Nori stepped out, tugging on his sleeves. Bombur whistled. “Looking sharp.”

The suit was navy blue, complimented with a white and blue striped dress shirt. He wore a black belt around his waist and black dress shoes. He left the top two buttons on his shirt undone.

“You have the ring?”

“In my pocket,” he said, patting his right thigh. He clenches and unclenches his hands.

Ori pats his arm. “You’ll be fine.”

“How much was the ring anyway?” Dori asked setting the ice box down.

Nori swallowed. “Nearly twenty-two hundred dollars…” he replied quietly.

The room silenced.

“Well,” Bombur muttered. “I’ve been outdone.” Everyone burst into laughter. Don’t tell my wife that.”

“Now I want to know…” Ori said. “How much _was_ your engagement ring Bombur?”

“Less than _his_ ,” Bombur said. “Embarrassingly less. Let’s leave it at that. I never thought I’d be glad Briar coming later…terrible thing to say, but I like sleeping in a bed, if you get my meaning.”

Thorin and Bifur entered the kitchen, grinning at their success.

I hand Thorin a glass of water and kiss him.

“Enough of that!” Dori snapped, swatting us apart. “At least leave it for _after_ the young and impressionable—”

“Dori, you know I’m not a virgin anymore, right?” Ori snapped. “Not that young and impressionable.”

Well, that’s one way to get Dori off us. I glance at Nori. Like his older brother, he’s rooted at the spot staring at his younger brother.

“When?!” Dori shrieked.

“Three years ago.”

“You were…Christ! Dori, he beat us,” Nori whined. Good to know he’s taking it in stride. Dori’s gaping like a fish.

Bifur signed something and Bombur nodded. I regret never learning sign language now.

“He said, ‘That was unexpected,’” Bombur clarified.

We snicker at Dori’s expense while he tries to get the whole story out of Ori, who is simply not saying a word more on the subject of his deflowering.

I looked out the window and panic set in my throat.

“HIDE!!” I shout.

The lights were turned off and we ran to the only real place we can hide: my room. Cramming six people in here is a bit tight, and with one being the size of _two_ , well, it’s tighter than necessary.

Save for the steady rhythm in the other room playing from the CD in the living room, the apartment is silent. My chest is tight and I take slow breaths, staring at the door.

The front door clicks open and Bofur’s boots resound on the floor.

“Nori? What’s going on?”

“I…well…”

 _C’mon Nori_.

“Bofur, I love you. I know I’m not…the best and you’ve known me at my worst and sometimes I wonder how you can even stand me, but…God, I’m bad at this speech thing, so I guess I’ll just ask…will you marry me, Bof?”

I’m holding my breath. Dori is biting his lip and Ori is jittery. Bombur looks pale and Bifur is trying to steady Ori. Thorin’s nails dig into my shoulders.

“Yes! My God, yes!”

I open the door and we file out, applauding them, pulling them out of their own world for the party.

When he has the chance, Bofur keeps staring at the ring on his finger completely enchanted. Sometime during dinner, Briar arrived. She expressed her disappointment in missing the actual proposal, but admired Bofur’s ring.

Nori kept blushing each time she yanked Bofur’s hand over to stare at it and cluck her tongue, smirking at the both of them.

A plastic cup appeared under my nose, fizzing Coke tickled my nostrils. I smile at Thorin and take it from him. “Thank you.”

He sat beside me, arm draped over my shoulders. “You know, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a heterosexual couple quite as adorable as they are right now.”

I shrug. “I’m sure there are many heterosexual couples who are adorable all on their own, engagement or no engagement.”

Thorin sips his Coke contemplatively. “True. Still, their cuteness is giving me a toothache.”

I punch his arm lightly, fixing my face into a mask of annoyance. “Be nice,” I say, kissing his cheek. “You’re having fun and you know it.” Thorin shrugged, smirking into the plastic Dole cup as I stand, going to refill my cup.

Talk to the _other_ guests, assuring them that yes I had a hand in it and no I’m not staying here _tonight_. In fact, if I was able, I’d send the two of them to Hawaii for a week. I can have the apartment to myself and not have to get better ear plugs to lock out the sound of my roommates moaning each other’s names.

Preferably.

But such is not my luck.

“How long did you know?”

I grin at Bofur, offering an unopened bottle of coke. He held his cup out and I refilled it. “A couple weeks,” I admit. “Most of which was trying to convince Nori he was worrying over nothing while helping him get all _this_ ,” I indicate at the guests, decorations, and food, “set up. Think of it this way: you don’t have to plan an engagement party. It’s already been done.”

“And let your mother handle the _actual_ wedding plan?”

“Oh God, no! Why do that when you already have a caterer? And a florist and a priest to officiate—”

“Okay, so the actual wedding will _pretty_ much plan itself. Except for the priest.”

“Exactly, and why give my mom the satisfaction of planning someone else’s wedding when it’s not even hers. I’m sure Thorin wouldn’t mind…”

“So am I, but he’s not really supposed to _know_ you, let alone _date_ you, Bill.”

I glare at him. “Well, fine. That’s one more thing you have to worry about.”

“True. We’ll live. Bilbo?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks,” he said, smiling. His fingers twist at the ring on his finger and the jewel gleams in the light. Nori enters the kitchen.

“I always told you that Nori would be the one doing the proposing if he ever got his head out of his ass long enough to do it,” I remind him, squeezing his shoulder. “And I’m happy for both of you.”

Nori wrapped his arms around Bofur’s middle, resting his head on his shoulder. “Don’t gloat too much, Baggins.”

The phone rang and I approached it. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I say, picking up the receiver. “Hello?”

“ _Bilbo, wonderful news,_ ” Gandalf replied on the other line.

Bilbo sighed, pinching his nose. “If this has to do with…what’s his name? _Beorn_ …now is not a good time. I’m in the middle of something.”

“ _I won’t take too much of your time, then,_ ” Gandalf assured him. “ _As I already told you, Beorn is a photographer of some renown. After a good chat—_ ”

“You _talked_ to him?!”

“ _And if you let me finish, you’ll know what I found out_ ,” Gandalf snapped. Bilbo grumbled, leaning against the wall. “ _He had no intention of frightening you or your friends. Rather, he’s been searching for a new model and was unsure how to approach you without scaring you off._ ”

“I’m not a mouse, for crying out loud! Even if he is…the guy’s big! How am I _not_ supposed to be a little intimidated?”

“ _Hmm. That would make sense._ ”

Damn this old man…I pinch the bridge of my nose. “So…he wants me to model for him? Why didn’t he just approach me outright and hand me his card?”

“ _It couldn’t hurt to ask him yourself._ ”

“He _followed_ me _home_. That doesn’t strike you as odd?”

“ _I’m sure he’s sorry for sending you into such a state of panic,_ ” Gandalf chuckled. “ _I did ask him about that. He did realize that following you home was_ not _his brightest idea and had given up approaching you. He’s quite delightful once you get a chance to have tea with him._ ”

I close my eyes, sighing.

“Everything all right?” I stare at my roommates and muffle the receiver.

“It’s Gandalf.”

Nori arched an eyebrow. “And?”

“He’s all but insisting I meet the guy,” I reply. “Isn’t that some sort of…break of code or conduct…”

“He is a barmy old man,” Nori reminded me. “Like your own grandpa. He probably doesn’t care whether he should have approached him or not.”

“Right,” I sigh. It’s certainly something my grandparents would do. I remove my hand from the receiver. “I’ll meet him, if you insist on it.” Nori mouthed _What the hell are you doing_ at me. “But I’m dragging a few friends just in case you’re _wrong_ and he’s a nutcase.”

“ _I assure you, he’s not. But suit yourself._ ”

“I’ll pay you the rest of what we agreed when I go see my grandparents next,” I promise. “Thanks, Gandalf.”

“ _Anytime, Bilbo. Enjoy your party. And give my congratulations to your friends on their engagement._ ”

“How did you—” I’m cut off by dial tone. I hang up, scowling.

“What?” Bofur asked.

“The old bastard hung up on me.”

“Well that’s rude.”

“And what the hell are you thinking?” Nori asked. “Why the hell are you agreeing to _meet_ the bastard who stalked you? Why _drag us_ with you?! Unlike some people, I have sense of preservation I like to maintain. And you’re not dragging Bofur there alone!”

“I could go with _just_ Thorin, but I’m sure priests also have some sort of rule against violence,” I say. “And there’s no way I can take the guy on my own. You know how big Dwalin was? Think bigger.”

Nori scowled, hugging Bofur a little tighter. Bofur untangled himself from Nori. “I draw the line when my ability to breath is compromised, Love.”

“Sorry.”

I glare at them. “Stop being so cute,” I mutter, heading to discuss this with Thorin.

I doubt he’s going to like this.

#

Beorn’s studio was a one story brick building in Brooklyn with a wooden, painted sign hanging on the wall beside the glass and iron framed door. The four of us stood outside the building.

Thorin, Nori, and Bofur were waiting for me to take the first step _inside_ , but every nerve fiber in my body buzzed, clouding my mind and making my ability to think little more than putty. Given a chance, I might run instead of punch his nose. I’m not sure which would be more relieving. Probably punching.

Thorin squeezes my shoulder.

“You don’t have to go in,” he assures me.

I look at him, wishing it were possible to kiss him. Why— _why_ —did he have to meet up with us _right after_ confession? We could have waited a couple minutes for him to change out of the suit.

“No, I don’t,” I agree. “But running away isn’t going to do me any good.

That said, I step up to the door and curl my fingers around the door handle, pulling it open and stepping inside.

I led them down a tiled hall with photos hanging from the wall. All the photos vary in subject and piece. There are very few pictures depicting people, save to recreate mythological images in a modern telling.

One is titled _Odin_. It’s a biker in jeans and leather with an eye patch over one eye and a grey wolf with a leather and studded collar lying at his feet as he sits at a bar surrounded by, who I guess, is supposed to be the Nordic pantheon in biker garb. Women, who I suppose are supposed to be the valkeries, hang around the men in tight, revealing leather clothes, shoulders squared back to emphasize large breasts. I’m not really sure whether to be impressed by the modernization or annoyed by the objectification of the women in the piece.

I glance at other pictures. There are several with a person with another animal, usually in accordance with a certain mythological theme—Nordic, Greek and Roman, Egyptian, Zoroastrian.

Even Judeo-Christian.

The image is Christ’s Baptism. Unlike other portraits I’ve seen of this story, it’s at the Lake at Central Park. Jesus is wearing swim trunks, water dripping down his shoulders and face, while John holds him up, gripping his hand and the other arm around Jesus’ waist. A dove is perched on Jesus’ shoulder, a stark white against the pigeons flapping around.

I glance at Thorin, wondering if he’s seen it. I don’t know how he’d take it. If it were my dad, I’m sure he’d have a few things to say about it.

Other than the possible homosexual context of the piece, it’s quite accurate…If I remember the story right.

“Bilbo,” Nori called, standing outside metal door.

I approached it and pounded on the metal before stuffing my hand in my pockets and shuffling my feet. My mouth is dry and I lean into Thorin’s hand pressed into my back. The sound of a latch clicks and his hand leaves me. There is little time to adjust to the lack of my lover’s touch when the door swings inward and the tall man stares down at us.

Thorin is tall in his own right. So was Dwalin. This man, Beorn I assume, is easily a head taller than Thorin. I knew he was _tall_ , but in the darkness, the exact _measure_ of how tall he is compared to me and the others…did not quite hit me.

He is dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt. A cigar hangs from his mouth.

Until now.

“Can I help you?”

“Beorn Mechka?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Is that Cuban?” Bofur asks.

I bow my head, regretting having brought Bofur now. _Of course_ the first thing he wants to know is where the damn cigar was imported from.

Beorn grins. “I wouldn’t settle for anything less,” he admits. “The old guy said you might be coming by,” he said to me, “But I didn’t think you’d…”

“Bring a posse?”

“Yes.”

I nod. “Well, you _did_ stalk me.”

He winces. “Not my brightest moment. Come in.” We follow him into the bright studio. “So…I guess I should start at the beginning,” he said, leading us to a table. We sit down waiting for him to begin. “I’ve a new project underway. You may have noticed out in the hall…”

“Myths and religious images,” Thorin said. “Most of them are modernized depictions of different stories. Your _Gilgamesh_ collection is a bit…”

“Disturbing? Some have said that. The story is ripe with homosexuality compared to other stories. Some actually like the myth for that reason. True, I may have had a little too much fun throwing Gilgamesh’s relationship with Enkidu in their faces. The story’s a little tamer than the way I depicted it.”

I clear my throat. 

“Right,” Beorn said. “Well, the new work I’m doing involves Greek Mythology—”

“Don’t you already have some?” Nori asked. “I saw a photo based off of the story of _Apollo and Daphne_.”

“That was strictly _Metamorphosis._ ” He clarified. “I’ve been looking for new models to construct who I have not captured as part of the Greek pantheon. Well, part _of_ but usually not included. Minor gods, I suppose. Aeolus,” he glances at me for a moment before glancing at the others. “Morpheus, Thanatos, and Triton are the only male gods I’ve yet to photograph.”

He turns to me again. “I am _very_ sorry I frightened you. I tend to forget that instead of following someone around when they fit a certain image I’m looking for I should just give them my card and be on my way. You’re not the first this has happened to. If you’re…not upset about that and don’t mind, I would like to photograph you in the role of Aeolus. Erm, the offer is to all of you, actually.”

He glances around the table, handing out cards. “You’ll be paid for the time and the shoot won’t be for more than a day.”

I glance over the card, lips pursed.

Appearance aside, he’s not as bad as I thought he’d be. And I’ve never been one to turn away a little extra cash if it helps pay the rent at the apartment…

And Gandalf.

“I don’t know about these three,” I say, “But I don’t mind. Still, it would have been easier if you just handed me your card and left it at that.”

Beorn sighed. “I know…you _also_ didn’t have to hire a PI.”

“You _followed_ me _home_. Of course I’m going to involve someone with some history with the police or something similar.”

“So…if Bilbo is ‘Aeolus,’” Nori said, crossing his arms, “Who would we be? Not that the rest of us agreed yet, but…if we _were_.”

“You would be Triton. Your partner I see as Thanatos and the priest seems like Morpheus.”

Bofur and Nori exchange a look. A raised eyebrow, an eye roll…Bofur pulls out a penny and flips it.

“Heads,” he declares. “We’re in.”

Thorin sighs, crossing his arms. “I suppose I might as well. Though _when_ is now in question.”

“My schedule’s free,” I say.

“Lucky you, setting your own schedule,” Nori muttered. “I need to plan things at least a fucking month in advance…”

“Same,” Bofur said.

We glance at Beorn. He stands and fetches a notebook, flipping through the pages. “Would Saturday, August sixteenth work for everyone?”

It does.

We thank him for his time and head for the door.

“Bilbo,” Beorn called. I glance at him and turn to the others.

“I’ll meet you outside.”

“You sure?” Bofur asked.

“Yes.” Bofur almost drags Nori out. Thorin won’t budge, staring at Beorn with a look I can’t quite understand. It’s like watching a coming storm. I push it aside, deciding we’ll talk about whatever’s bothering him later.

I approach Beorn. “What is it?”

“I really am sorry about all this,” he said. He seems more distressed than I gave him credit for, so I wave it off.

“I get it wasn’t intentional, so no harm no foul,” I say, smiling. “And it’s happened before.”

“Sadly…I don’t get many chances to explain myself though.”

“I guess that’s why Gandalf told me to come. As for bringing the gang, well, that was more a preemptive in case you were unfriendly.”

“Ah. My height…tends to put people on the defensive,” he agrees. “So I can’t blame you. If anything, it kind of helped me. It almost hurts to wait a whole month to finish photographing…”

“I could come earlier,” I offer. “I’m self-employed, so…”

“I know. That old guy, Gandalf, directed me to your website. I also rented some of your previous books of poetry from the library. You’re very talented.”

I blush. “Well, one artist to another and all that…”

“If you wouldn’t mind coming earlier, that’d be helpful. Less of a rush to get all four of you ready for your shots, you know.”

“Of course I wouldn’t mind.” I stuff my hands in my pockets. “I have your card, so I’ll call when I know my schedule a little better.”

“All right,” Beorn held his hand out. I untangled one hand from my pocket to shake his. “I look forward to it. Have a good day.”

“You too.”

I walk toward the door, wondering where Thorin had gone to. He’s probably outside with Bofur and Nori, so I push it from my mind.

Except Thorin’s not outside.

I turn to Nori, who shrugged. “He just stormed out of the building a few minutes ago, looking like he was ready to turn into the Hulk,” he said. “What happened in there?”

“Nothing,” I say. “We talked. That’s all. I might meet with Beorn for a photo shoot before the sixteenth and he complimented my writing. Why would that upset him?”

“No idea. But…he doesn’t know you as well as we do,” Bofur said. “And that photographer’s been eying you a bit. Hard not to notice that he’s a little sweet on you.”

“Well, that would explain it, but c’mon! I’ve never cheated on anyone in my life. Why would I start?”

“You wouldn’t. But Thorin does have vows to uphold being a man of the collar and all,” Bofur said. I take my phone out, speed dialing Thorin.

“Yes, but that doesn’t explain why he wouldn’t trust me, only why Beorn would feel free to be ‘sweet on me’ as you so nicely put it.”

The ringing ended three rings in. I lower my phone, staring at the screen.

“What is it?” Nori asked. “Call dropped.”

I shake my head. “Call _ended_.”

Nori squeezed my shoulder as we descended into the subway station. “He looked angry, Bilbo. Maybe give him a little time to cool off and call him again in the morning. Okay?”

I pocket my phone, agreeing to Nori’s plan, but…

What did I do that would make him this upset? Why would he just run off rather than _talk_ to me about what upset him?

We agreed on that, so why?

I should have listened to Nori and waited until morning, but I wasn’t going to sleep well worrying about what it was I did to upset him enough that he would _run away_. So after dinner, I call again.

And the call, for a second time, was ended. I set my phone on the table, pulling my knees to my chin and wrapping my arms around my legs. My eyes sting with unshed tears and I breathe shakily.

_What did I do?_

_Thorin, why aren’t you talking to me?_

_What did I do wrong?_

_Why won’t you tell me?_

_Do you think so poorly of me that you’d really believe I’d cheat on you?_

_Do you really believe I’d stoop so low?_

_How can you doubt how much I love you?_

No answers to my questions came. The phone never rang, telling me that Thorin wanted to talk. There was no knock at the door for me to run to.

I just want to understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The cake: http://www.cakepicturegallery.com/d/35667-2/Chic+dark+purple+engagement+cake+in+three+tiers.PNG 
> 
> The suit: http://oh54qjteet5b0uym.zippykid.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/10/Versace-Collection-Peaked-Lapel-Two-Button-Navy-Blue-Suit-3.jpg 
> 
> The gods Beorn intends to photograph the group as:
> 
> Aeolus (Bilbo) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aeolus
> 
> Morpheus (Thorin) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morpheus_(mythology) 
> 
> Thanatos (Bofur) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thanatos
> 
> Triton (Nori) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Triton_(mythology)


	13. Chapter 13

I didn’t sleep well, waking up at repeated intervals, waiting for my phone to ring. Picking it up and debating whether or not to call Thorin…

And setting it back down onto the bedside table, rationalizing that it’d be better to just wait until morning.

At nine o’clock I know he’s awake, so I send him a text since I’m not sure he’ll answer if I call:

_What happened yesterday?_

After that, I take a shower, trying to compose myself and look somewhat presentable when I steel myself to venture out of the room.

I check my phone to see if Thorin got my message. He did.

_Meet me by Joan of Arc at two?_

I text an affirmative, though I’d rather meet him there _now_. I’ve no idea what to do with the next five fucking hours.

I arrive at the statue of Joan of Arc at Riverside Park before him, barely five minutes till two.

Most are concerned with the front of the statue where you can see Joan’s face and her sword held high, so I stay in the back where I do not photo-bomb tourists.

Thorin arrives a little after two.

I smile at him, but it’s tentative. His anger is so clear on his face and seems so… _natural_ that I’m somewhat terrified.

“Hey,” I greet, closing the distance between us.

Thorin doesn’t respond, glaring down at me. He walks past me without a word.

I walk beside him, wishing for anything but this silence and staring at my feet. I lift my head and curl my hand around his forearm, halting him.

“Thorin, what happened yesterday that upset you so much?” I ask.

He pulls out of my grasp. “You must have noticed how he was looking at you.”

“I didn’t. Nori and Bofur did point out that he might have a crush on me…Thorin do you really think I’m the kind of guy who’s unfaithful?  I’ve no reason to be. I love _you_. I don’t understand how you can doubt me like that. Why don’t you trust me?”

Thorin scoffed, avoiding my gaze.

My throat tightens, constricted the way it gets when I’m upset.

“I’ve never given you a reason to doubt me,” I say. “I don’t doubt _you_ , so what have I done that would make you think I’d cheat on you?”

“What reasons do you have _not_ to be unfaithful?” he snapped, turning on me.

_What?_

“For God’s sake,” he hissed. “I’m a _priest_ , Bilbo. I know that makes things…more complicated than they need to be. We both agreed that we knew the risks but…unlike you and I, you can be as open as you’d like to be with _him_.”

“You’re being ridiculous! You’re right: _we_ agreed. _We agreed_ to be in a relationship. _We_ fell in love. Why would you think I’d throw what we have away just because you’re a priest? Why do you think I’d give us up? I love you and I _want_ to be with you, Thorin. Is that really so hard to believe that I love you?”

Thorin sighed, refusing to look at me.

“Do you find it that hard to trust me?”

He stares at the ground.

I seize his jacket, shaking him.

“ _Look_ at me when we’re talking!” I shout.

I know I shouldn’t draw attention to us, but…I don’t care right now.

“ _Look_ at me and _tell_ me the fucking truth!”

He doesn’t even blink, whispering, “How can I trust you when you are so openly affectionate with someone else?”

I almost didn’t hear him. But I did, and I can’t even believe what…

How can he just…

_What the fuck?!_

“You need help if you think what I talked to Beorn about was in any fucking way _affectionate_. When did you leave? Was it after he complimented my writing or after I agreed to see him before the time we agreed?”

Thorin lifts his head, a snarl present on his face.

So he left before that was decided.

I refuse to be cowed.

“Thorin, it’s just a few stupid pictures and then I’m done! What is so wrong with offering to get it done early?”

“He _stalked_ you!”

“And he apologized!”

“You believe that?! That it was all just some _accident_?!”

“You’re the—”

I snap my jaws, swallowing _priest_ as though it were bile clawing its way up my throat.

“You tell me,” I growl. “You’re supposed to be the expert when it comes to forgiveness. Not me, you bastard. _Not me_. I don’t know how you got it in your head that I’d cheat on you right in front of you, Thorin, but…my God, where did you even _get_ a notion that _stupid_? _I_ _love you_. How _dare_ you think I’d hurt you like that!”

“You _agreed_ to meet with him?”

“That’s so far from the point—”

“How is it off point?!” He bellowed.

I glance around, seeing a crowd draw near.

We’ve been rooted in one spot, having a fucking domestic in the middle of Riverside Park and I _just now_ realize this?

I wanted to _talk_. Not fight.

“You know what,” I say, looking at Thorin again. “When you’re actually able to act like an adult, we’ll talk then and somewhere we _won’t_ have an audience.” I wave my hand at the crowd.

Some of whom walked away sheepishly.

I walk around Thorin, deciding to go home.

He seizes my arm.

“ _Don’t walk away from me—_ ”

“Thorin, let go,” I demand, trying to yank out of his hold.

His grip tightens.

I curl my free hand into a fist. “Let me go.”

“And if I do, where will you go after this?” He spat. “To _Beorn’s_?”

I slam my fist into his jaw.

Thorin releases me, stumbling back and massaging his chin.

I stride away, shoving my hands into my pockets.

“Bilbo!”

I quicken my stride, focusing on getting home with some shred of dignity before the tears that threaten to fall do.

Once there, and in the safety of my room with my back pressed to the door, I slide to the ground, covering my face with my hands, trying to catch my tears before they fall.

#

I flip through the July 2014 edition _The New Yorker_ , reading a few interesting pieces while keeping my ears sharp for the announcement of my stop.

Thorin has not called me.

Nor have I called him.

It’s been two days since our fight at Riverside Park. It seems neither of us believes we’re in the wrong. I know I didn’t do anything wrong. I can’t fathom why Thorin thinks I’d cheat on him! It’s ludicrous!

He has no reason to doubt me. No legitimate reason anyway.

I know what it feels like to be cheated on. Suspicions of being cheated on hurt, but to actually _know_ the one you love is unfaithful?

Why would I—or anyone—put another through that?

I’ve had my failings, but I’ve _never_ cheated on another person.

Rather _I_ had been cheated once before. Admittedly it was just _one_ of my past lovers, but it doesn’t mean it didn’t _hurt_ when I found out about his infidelity.

I had also been accused of unfaithfulness before, and that had been an almost impossibly difficult relationship to escape in the end.

But I did love my partners, both past and present, too deeply to even _fathom_ wanting to be with another guy at the same time.

So I don’t understand why Thorin, who has never _once_ been in a relationship before me, would be so insecure as to think I’d cheat on him. I just wish he had _talked_ to me instead of accuse me baselessly of infidelity when I’ve been nothing _but_ loyal.

I turn a page, sighing, and begin a new story.

If my relationship with Thorin is going to be like _that_ …

If he’s going to be so childishly insecure each time I have a conversation with someone he doesn’t know or knows to be single, then—and I regret to say it—he’s not worthy of my loyalty or my love.

I refuse to be in another relationship with a man who can’t trust me as much as I trust him.

“Is that an interesting article?”

I glance away from the page to see Beorn grinning at me.

I bend the page and sliding the magazine into my satchel.

“It’s not really something I’d write about personally, but not bad. I did mean to call, but…things sort of…decided to slam me.”

“Work?”

“No…personal life,” I sigh. “My partner and I are having a fight. He thinks I’m capable of cheating on him. We’ve not been together long enough for him to even _judge_ something like that, so…” I blanch. “I am so sorry; I did not mean to regurgitate my personal life onto you.”

Beorn chuckles. “I don’t mind. I’m a very good listener, so if you want to talk about it, there’s a good coffee shop at the next stop—or would that just get you in more trouble with your partner?”

“It’s none of his business where I get coffee and who I get coffee with anyway. Especially right now when I can’t really…”

I slump my shoulders.

“It’s just been…a really rough couple of days since our fight. So yes, if you really don’t mind me whining about him. I’d have vented to my friends before now, but Nori and Bofur have been acting like they’re from the planet Venus on Valentine’s Day since their engagement.”

Beorn laughed. The car slowed to a halt and we got off. “How long have they been together?”

“Ten years,” I say, smiling at his startled look. “Yeah, I know. It’s about time. They’re college sweethearts, so you’d think they’d have tied the knot as soon as same-sex marriage was legalized, but…Nori wasn’t the marrying type until recently.”

“Well, if it’s been ten years, then…”

“Like I said: about fucking time— _Jeezis_ it’s raining!”

I fix my hood over my head. It wasn’t this bad when I got on, but now it’s a complete downpour.

 _Weather to match my mood, I guess_ , I thought, following Beorn to a quaint coffee shop.

Suede brown and tan couches and recliners on moss green rugs on black tiles surrounded wooden, coffee stained tables. Two baristas stood behind the counter, filling orders at a leisurely pace.

“Have you ha preference?”

“Not really, if you mean if I’ve a preferred coffee,” I reply, lowering my hood. “Though I’d like something sweet, if that’s okay. I guess you know this place better than I do, so go ahead and surprise me.”

“Take a seat,” he said, waving around the half-empty store.

I find an empty table in the back, hidden by a rather large fern, and sit down, staring at the table without actually seeing it as more than support for my elbows as I prop my head up and tap the table.

_What am I doing?_

I don’t know why I decided to talk to Beorn about Thorin. It seems… _wrong_ , but I’m certainly not talking to Thorin any time soon and I just…

“Here you are,” Beorn said, handing me the drink. “Vanilla latte.”

I smile, taking the cup from him.

“So, your boyfriend’s being an ass,” he summarizes.

“That’s one way to put it,” I sigh, letting the heat emitting from the cup warm my hands. “We fought once before—about you, honestly. He wasn’t happy when he found out you had followed me home. That, I admit, was my fault. I didn’t tell him about that before hiring Gandalf. But this…accusing me of _cheating_ of all things!”

“Only once?”

“We’ve been together for about three weeks,” I clarify.

“Ah. Why would he think you’re cheating then?”

“His job doesn’t allow us to be openly public about our relationship,” I say. “So we’ve been keeping it low key. Low enough that only a couple people actually _know_ who he is.”

“The priest who came with you to my studio?”

I look up, mouth agape.

“How did—”

“Well, the whole ‘keeping it secret,’ ‘can’t let anyone know we’re together’ bit sort of gave it away. I’d not have thought your boyfriend would be part of the Catholic clergy had he not been glaring at me the whole time. At first, I thought he was just the…er…hat guy’s brother and very protective, but it puts a lot of things into perspective. I suppose it’d make sense for him to be wary. You’re relationship can’t be easy.”

I shake my head. “It’s not. Even if he was a protestant pastor it’d be difficult for us.”

“There are churches that are coming around on the same-sex relationship issue.”

“I’ve yet to find one.”

“There’s really good one up in Albany: First Church…I think.”

My eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of my sockets.

“I’ve been there before when I was doing a photo shoot up north. The pastor invited me while I was working and he seemed like a nice guy, so…you know it?”

I swallow. “My…my _dad’s_ the pastor. Or I guess he _was_. He’s anti-gay, so I _doubt_ it became pro-gay while he was there.”

“Maybe he changed.”

I scoff. “He hasn’t since I saw him last. Trust me. My dad is anything _but_ pro-gay.”

“You’d be amazed how many formerly anti-gay churches have changed their outlook on homosexuality for one reason or other, be it they know someone who’s homosexual or they themselves are homosexual…do you think it’s possible you’ve just been too angry at your dad to hear anything _but_ homophobic nonsense?”

I sip my latte contemplatively.

“I’ll call and ask, but…” I sigh, staring out the window and watching rain drops paint the streets. “I don’t know. It’s difficult to talk to my dad…not that I mind the bunny trail, but _how_ did…”

Oh.

_Thorin._

_Thorin being a Catholic priest._

_The difference between Catholic and Protestant practices (somewhat)._

_Protestant churches that are pro-gay. Dad’s Church (supposedly)._

_Dad._

Right.

Fuck.

“Never mind,” I sigh. “I see how it deviated.”

Beorn laughed.

I smiled a little, taking another sip of coffee.

“Seriously though, if your man isn’t able to trust you after three weeks, then it’s likely you weren’t meant to be. Of course, glaring at me the whole time isn’t a good first impression.”

“No. It isn’t. But it wasn’t because you were friendly at first, but because…”

“Because I followed you home.”

“Yeah. After which, yes, it was the second reason. I just…I don’t see _how_ he could have thought I’d be flirting with you.”

I took another sip.

“You weren’t. I was,” Beorn admitted.

I coughed, almost spitting coffee on him. I grabbed napkins, covering my mouth and chin.

“Well, I’d give points for subtlety, but it was a tad too subtle,” I say. My voice is raspy and I keep coughing.

“Don’t die on me here…”

“I’m fine.”

I hope I’m fine.

“Well, regardless whether or not _you_ flirted with me…I guess it was clear to Thorin, but I didn’t notice—other guys who’ve approached me were usually a bit too aggressive or god awful at it.”

“Well, clearly I’m a bad flirt too since the one I was flirting with didn’t get that I was flirting,” Beorn sighed. “You do not look like the kind of guy who’d cheat on his partner and I’m not the kind to steal another person’s lover, so…”

“Yeah, my obliviousness clearly made a mess of everything.”

And to top it all off, I punched him in an anger I felt was real. It _was_ real.

Granted, I wish he had _talked_ to me rather than accuse me.

But if our positions were switched and I thought Thorin was cheating on me, or _saw_ another guy flirt with him and he didn’t realize it, I guess I’d be too upset to think rationally also.

“I, um, understand if you’d rather not cast me in your photos after this whole mess—”

“Are you kidding? Who else fits _Aeolus?_ None that I’ve seen so far and I’m not kidding when I’ve searched _all_ of Brooklyn and Manhattan!” Beorn shrugged. “I’ll find a way to manage without a cute guy like you,” he sighed dramatically.

“Thank you for understanding,” I say, relaxing. “And for listening to me bitch.”

“At the very least, I hope you’d be willing to be friends.”

I nod. “I would like that. About…the shoot. Does sometime within the next week or two work?”

“Yes, and bring your man if things work out. Just so he’s assured I’m not going to steal you from him.”

“I’m not sure that’d help, but I’ll let him know the offer’s there. Maybe get him to do his bit early too. Nori and Bof won’t be able to, but…”

“All right. Fair enough.”

We stood and moved back into the drear outside that is New York City.

I cover my head and shake his hand, thanking him again for the coffee before heading back toward the subway and go home.

I don’t know how I’m going to bring the subject up with Thorin. We have too much to talk about and bringing Beorn into the conversation may—or definitely—send him into another mood.

My phone rings while I board the train.

It’s Thorin.

I stare at the screen, wondering whether or not to answer.

My heart beats at the pace of a running rabbit. My eyes sting with unshed tears and my throat is tight. It’s hard to swallow. My finger presses the answer button.

“Hello?”

No answer, save dial tone.

He hung up on me.

The bastard fucking hung up on me!

 _What the hell?!_ I think, lowering my phone. _Of all the puerile, discourteous, bull-shittiest things to do, you fucker…_

I lean against the iron bar I’m clutching onto, pinching my eyes with my fingers.

_Fuck you, Thorin._

#

I collapse on my bed once I’m home and debate whether to call Thorin back, just to yell at him for hanging up on me.

The phone beeps alerting me to a text.

From Thorin.

 For a moment, I debate looking at it. If he dumps me over a text, I’ll kill the bastard, priest or not. I almost delete the message, but decide it won’t hurt to look. It might make me angrier than I already am, but there’s a small hope that it’s not what I fear it’ll be.

_I’m so sorry about hanging up on you. The bishop showed up to talk about my work he just found. He’s not happy with me right now. Don’t even know how he found out about it. Can we talk? I miss you._

I sigh and respond:

_I miss you too. Pizza at my place?_

I wait barely a minute for a reply:

_Yes. See you in half an hour._

Ordering pizza is takes ten minutes and even after I spend the rest of the time trying to freshen up.

I’m worried about Thorin. What happened between him and his boss? Did he lose his ordainment or whatever enables him to be a priest?

Apart from that, I’m afraid. _Terrified_. What if…

I dress comfortably and drink some water, trying to wet my parched throat, almost dropping the glass when the expected knock comes to the door. My hands shake as they grip the doorknob and open the door for Thorin.

He steps inside, closing the door for me.

“Thorin, I—”

He cups my cheek, kissing me.

“I am sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Bilbo.”

“Me too. I’m sorry too…I didn’t realize…I’m sorry. I love you, Thorin.”

“So do I. Love you. You drive me crazy…God help me, Bilbo, but I love you.”

My back presses against the wall, hands threading into his hair.

Will I ever not be so fucking sensitive? One of these days I’m sure I’ll never be able to cry because my tear ducts will have dried up.

Thorin’s hands move from my jaw to my shoulders, whispering _I love yous_ between kisses on my lips and my cheeks, wiping my tears away.

Maybe we can figure out how to make this right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!! Have an early update. If you are in a relationship, be blessed in it! If you are not, be blessed in your patience! And remember: not all relationships have to be romantic.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has feels. This chapter has porn. You have been warned. (If you are uncomfortable with the smut, I again suggest skipping that scene. Where it begins is at the asterisk in parentheses: (*) and you can skip to the first hashtag.)

“I never reacted like that to anything,” he admits between bites of pizza. We sat in the living room on the floor, the pizza box between us and beer bottles on the coffee table. “I just…I’ve been angry before, but _never_ like that. It frightens me that I could _act_ so irrationally.”

“So you’ve never been jealous before?” I ask.

“Well, I _thought_ I had been, but clearly not.”

“There are different kinds of jealousies. Being jealous over a Christmas present your little brother got isn’t going to be the same as being jealous of another person like the way you were of Beorn. Which, you know, is stupid, right?”

“I do _now_.”

“Good. I’m not _going_ to cheat on you, Thorin. I won’t say I’m not still angry with you. I am so fucking pissed off…” I sigh, shaking my head. “Damn it, Thorin, what we have is _not_ going to work if you don’t _trust_ me a little bit. I am _sorry_ that I didn’t realize Beorn was flirting with me. That can’t have been easy to watch. But _how_ could you just accuse me of infidelity _in the middle of the fucking street_ without any proof that I had been unfaithful when all I did was _talk_ to the guy?!”

Thorin tensed, head bowed. I sigh again, setting my slice down and pulling him into my arms, his head rests on my shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“I _know_ you’re sorry,” I say, petting his hair. “I know you are, Babe.”

I only wish that was enough to make the betrayal I feel lessen. At this moment, I don’t know if I can forgive him for that. I know I will eventually. I can’t be angry forever and I’ve never really been able to be angry for long.

His breathing is shaky and I feel wet droplets stain my sleeve.

“You know I love you, right?” I whisper. “I love you so much, Thorin. So why is it so hard for you to trust me? Can you tell me?”

He sighs, taking my other hand in his. “I don’t know…I’m just…I think I’m afraid to lose you and…I’m afraid to be with you. I’ve…I don’t know why God brought you into my life, but since meeting you, I’ve changed and these changes frighten me so much. I’ve never cared for someone so deeply, nor have desired…and it _scares_ me, Bilbo. You _scare_ me. I shouldn’t desire you and yet I can’t stop thinking about you. I’m torn in two and I feel like I have to choose between my faith and you—”

“Stop,” I say. “You _don’t_ have to choose. You _never_ have to choose. Your faith is yours and so am I. I might not believe as deeply as you do, Thorin, but I will _never_ make you choose. I know that the love you have for God is stronger than the love you have for me. I know that and I accept that. I was a Christian once too. I know what is expected of those who follow Christ. So don’t _ever_ feel like you have to choose.

“Thorin, this is your first relationship, so it makes sense that you’d be terrified. It’s okay to be scared when you’re in love. There is nothing wrong with desiring someone and that _desire_ is natural. Many Christians—and some non-Christians—assume that desire is something to shy away from. It’s not. Without desire, there is no passion, and there is no love. True, there are negative aspects of desire too, but think of it this way: if God did not desire his people, would he have made the sacrifice he did? Would he have decided to save us from sin? To desire someone, to want to be by their side, wake up next to them in the morning, spend your days with them, have sex with them…there’s _nothing_ wrong with that.

“That said, there is _no legitimate excuse_ for you to not trust me. You don’t know what that feeling _really_ feels like. What you felt, while it hurt, was superficial. You don’t _know_ what it really feels like to be cheated on and if you thought your heart was broken _then_ , then _pray_ you never find out what it really feels like. I will _never_ betray you, Thorin. I have never betrayed anyone before I met you. I don’t intend to start now. And I will _not_ allow you to accuse me baselessly of infidelity. Is that clear?”

“Yes.”

I kiss his forehead. “Good.”

He raises his head, catching my lips. I press my lips against his after the initial shock attacked me. I licked his mouth and his gasp sends shivers down my spine as I dart my tongue between his teeth, curling it around his and engaging his tongue in a battle with mine.

My hand moves from his head down his arm and rests on his thigh, and certain thoughts flit through my brain:

One: Thorin is here.

Two: Nori and Bofur, thankfully, are not.

Three: I should probably put the pizza away before I turn Thorin into goo.

I break apart gently and gather the barely touched pizza. “Give me a moment. We need to move this to my room.” He waits for me to put the food in the refrigerator and follows me to my room. (*)

I have no intention of giving him the upper hand. So the moment the door is closed, I shove him against the wall, nipping at his lips, unclipping his belt and unzipping his pants. I pull his shirt free and unbutton it, pushing it off his shoulders.

“Do you trust me?” I ask huskily.

He nods, pupils dilating.

“Good.” I kiss him, pulling him away from the door and shoving him onto the bed before climbing between his legs. “I’m going to make you scream,” I grind my hips against his. “I’m gonna make you feel things you’ve _never_ felt before,” I promise, curling my fingers under his pants and boxers, pulling them off. He props up on his elbows to watch me. “All you need to do is enjoy it.”

Thorin groans, biting his lower lip. I shove him back down onto the bed, massaging his ribs, his chest, shoulders, and biceps. “Choose a safe word,” I growl, nipping his throat. “You know what that is, don’t you?” His Adam’s apple bobs and he nods.

“Azog,” he says. I arch an eyebrow. “A dog my family had when I was a kid.”

“Okay. If it gets too much or too rough for your liking, say ‘Azog.’”

I climb off him again.

“Do you object to being tied down?” I ask.

He shakes his head. 

“What about a cock ring?”

Again he shakes his head, despite the uncertainty in his eyes. I remind him that it’s okay to not be okay with it, but he holds firm, so I pull out black-furred hand cuffs, binding his hands to the bed frame. I pull out a leather, adjustable cock ring.

I wave it in front of his face. “This is going to keep you from coming until I want you to. It fits snuggly around your bits. Still okay with that?”

“Yes.”

I lay it on his chest, allowing him to get used the feel of it, and the look. I kneel between his legs and hook my hands under his knees, spreading his limbs apart before kissing his hole. He gasps, muscles tensing.

“Bilbo—”

“Hush.”

“But—”

“Whatever you’re going to say, I’ve heard it all before.” To prove my point, I lick the puckered skin and relish at his muscles tensing more. “Just enjoy it, Baby. Relax.”

I kiss his ass again, lathing it with saliva and carefully push my tongue into this virgin hole. He clenches around me. I pull my tongue out.

“ _Relax_ , Thorin.”

I wait for his muscles to slacken and dive back in. His muscles quiver, but he’s finally relaxing. A moan escapes his throat, and I press my tongue back in. I can tell he’s straining not to tense up and I manage to fuck him with my tongue, pulling sweet sounds out of his throat.

I move away from his ass, planting kisses on his perineum, scrotum, and the underside of his fully erect penis. I seize the leather ring and wrap it around the base of his cock. “Good?”

“Yes,” he gasps out.

I lick the tip of his cock, pressing my tongue into the slit, engulfing him. Thorin groans, thrusting his hips up.  I shove his hips back onto the bed.

“Try to hold still, Baby,” I say, massaging his balls with my hand.

I get off the bed and strip out of my clothes, fetching a condom and lube. I leave the packet on the table, coating my fingers in lubricant, warming the fluid between my appendages.

I stare at Thorin, his hands pinned above his head, lips red from being bitten, chest heaving, legs bent at the knees…Cock bound in leather, resting on his lower abdomen, stiff, and red.

I lower my hand between his legs, pressing one finger into his hole. He squeezes around me. I bite my lip, massaging his inner thigh with my free hand until he relaxes again.

“You’re doing so good, Babe,” I say. Thorin turns his head to the right, biting his lip and whining. His back arches when my finger thrusts in and almost out. “So _good_.”

“Bilbo… _oh…_ ”

I grin, pressing in a second finger. He tenses again.

“It’s okay,” I say, squeezing his thigh. “Do you want to stop?”

“ _No_!”

I wait for him to relax and slowly stretch him open, keeping an ear out for _Azog_ to pass his lips as I fit my hand into him, searching for the right angle…

Thorin screams, back arching and toes curling, fighting against the cuffs.

“ _Fuck! Oh…Oh, G—Bil…oh! Wha… **that** …”_

“That,” I say, “Is your prostate.” I press my fingers against the wall, rubbing against it. “You like?” He moans an affirmative. “ _That_ is what I’m aiming to hit when I’m inside you.” I trust my fingers into it, rewarded with another scream.

I pull my hand out, ripping the condom packet open with my teeth and fitting the plastic onto my weeping, neglected cock before coating it with lube and shuddering at the touch. I line my shaft up with Thorin’s hole, easing in.

 _Yes. God, **yes**! _ He’s still tight and _fuck_ it feels _good_.

My fingers dig into Thorin’s hips. His legs wrap around my waist. I wait a moment before I move. Thorin strains against the cuffs and I kiss his chest, teasing his nipples with my teeth and tongue. I kiss him and remove the ring, stroking him to completion.

He comes with a choked scream, semen spurting over our chests. He relaxes, strength abandoning him.

“Look at me,” I demand. Thorin obeys, hissing in a breath when I lick his come off my fingers. I kiss him. “You taste so _good_.” He closes his eyes, moaning and I tip over the edge, forehead pressed into his sternum and nails digging into his skin.

I pull out, arms and legs shaking. I just want to collapse. Sheer determination allows me to hobble back to the bathroom to remove the condom and clean us up.

After wiping Thorin’s cum off of his stomach, I release his hands from the cuffs. He moans.

“Better?” I ask groggily, laying my head on his chest and pressing as close to him as I can. Thorin doesn’t answer, but I don’t blame him for falling asleep…

#

I wake near noon the following day, still using Thorin’s chest as a pillow. I glance up to see that he is still asleep. I prop up on one elbow, my strength returned, and smile. My chest seems made of balloon rubber: light and swollen with air. I find I like the idea of waking up to seeing him first thing in the morning, still deep asleep.

I kiss his forehead, deciding to make an admittedly very late breakfast, and slide out of bed, donning sweat pants and a t-shirt. Lastly, I tie my hair back to keep it out of my eyes. It’s usually unrulier after I wake and I’d rather forgo trying to tame it right now.

Or should we just have left over pizza?

I decide he might appreciate a hot, non-microwaved meal and make omelets with green peppers, bacon bits, and olives. I’m adding shredded cheese when arms wrap around my waist and Thorin presses his face into the junction of my shoulder and neck. “Sleep well?”

“Yes. I’m a bit stiff.”

“That’s to be expected,” I assure him. “But so long as you can move without too much pain, there’s no need to worry.” He kisses my neck. “Breakfast is almost ready, if you want to take a seat.” His arms tighten around me, so I move the skillet to a cold burner and turn the hot burner I was using off. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry.”

“We covered that already…”

“You’re still angry.”

It’s true. I am. And I wish his sincerity could alleviate my ire, but it doesn’t. Until he reminded me I was angry, I had almost forgotten that I was and what had made me angry in the first place.

“Would you feel better if I forgave you even though I’m not quite sure I can honestly say I have?” I ask, turning around to face him. “Thorin, I love you and it doesn’t matter to me that you’re a priest. It never will matter to me. _I love you_. That doesn’t mean I won’t be upset with you from time to time. I’m not upset that you got jealous. It’s okay to be jealous when someone flirts with your partner. What’s _not_ okay is that you thought I would…” I sigh. “What’s not okay is that you thought it was okay to start a fight in the middle of the day in public. So yes, I’m still mad. I need time to cool off, but,” I smile. “I could have _denied_ you sex rather than handcuff you to my bed. So, all things considered, I’m about halfway close to forgiving you already. Now can I finish making us food?”

Thorin nodded, loosening his grip around me. I kiss him and send him to the table while I reheat the omelets. “You know,” I say, “if you’re that uncomfortable with me meeting Beorn alone, you could come. And maybe get your shots out of the way at the same time.”

Thorin hummed. “That…yeah…sure.”

I transfer the omelets to two plates, grab forks, and sit at the table, setting one in front of Thorin. “So…yesterday you mentioned your boss giving you an earful about being pro-gay?”

Thorin groaned. “Yes. Not my best conversation. I didn’t come out to him, but we certainly had…a few badly chosen words thrown at each other.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I’m sorry, Babe.”

“Well, I’m still ordained, but…” he sighed. “One wonders where people got in their heads that the Bible ever said _anything_ about homosexuality in a negative light. So many verses and passages get misconstrued and mistranslated and even _butchered_ to mean what they want it to mean! The Bible _cannot_ mean _now_ what it did _two thousand years_ ago! One verse in Jude even states that those who ‘seek after strange flesh’ would be punished as Sodom was, but human flesh isn’t _strange_! It was in regard to wanting to have sex with _angels_. And the original term in Corinthians that _translators_ assumed meant ‘homosexuality’ actually in regards to temple prostitution—”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and dropped his shoulders. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to start rambling.”

“Ramble away,” I say, grinning. “It’s entertaining. So long as your ire’s not directed at me, because then it’s downright scary.”

Thorin snorts, shaking his head. “It’s no _wonder_ my nephews _like you_. You’re just as bad!”

“What did I do? Is it a crime to think you’re funny?” I ask.

“No, but…why does everyone think I’m funny when I’m angry?” He asks.

I shrug. “It just is.” Thorin rolls his eyes, cutting his omelet.

What Beorn tells me about my Dad’s church in Albany returns to me. Should I go? Albany’s five hours away by transit and…

Maybe I should leave that for later. Call Dad, ask. Discuss it with Thorin…or something…

I don’t know.

Now that I’m thinking about it again, it’s worming around in my head and I wonder how I managed to push it aside before.

“You’re quiet,” Thorin said. “What’s going on?”

I look at him, biting my lip. “Just…thinking if I should go back to Church. My Dad’s.”

“I thought your dad was homophobic.”

“Yeah, so did I?”

“You don’t think so anymore?”

“I don’t know.”

“If he is, there are _other_ churches. Just not _mine_ ,” he added with a snarl.

“Why stay there if you don’t like it?”

“It’s where I’ve been for years. I grew up at St. Patrick’s. Besides I _do_ like it there. I don’t like _all_ the people who go there, but that’s a different matter entirely. No one cares that I’m gay there. Most don’t even know and if they do, they don’t care. Some probably think I made a good decision to be a priest because then I _have_ to abstain from pursuing others.”

I snort. “I’m sorry for corrupting you.”

“They expect the same from heterosexual priests anyway. Who’s to say I’m the first to have broken my abstinence vows? Not all got a calling as young as I did and even then…” He smiled. “I hope I don’t sound like I’m trying to dissuade you from going back, Bilbo. It makes me happy that you _want_ to go back, even if just to put a rumor you heard to rest.”

“I’m not making any decisions yet!”

“Well, it’s definitely not something to take lightly. Especially if you’ve been hurt by the Church in the past,” Thorin said. “How many people do you think walk away from the Church or never give it a chance because someone or more than one person had been hurt too deeply by those who are supposed to be part of the body of Christ?”

I drum my fingers against the table. “Considering I’m one of them and I used to be part of the body…a lot. More than we probably know. But would you call people who drive others away part of the body of Christ?”

“No. Why do you think I said ‘supposed to be’?” Thorin took the last bite of his omelet and stood. “I have to get back before the others decide to call.”

“Do they know that you and the Bishop fought?”

“Yes. It’s not the first time I’ve left to cool off. They’re fine with it so long as I’m back to lead confession in the afternoon. Thanks for breakfast,” He pecks my lips and grabs his coat. “I’ll call later.”

“Okay.”

The door clicks closed and I lean back, pushing around the last of my own omelet, wondering what I should do today.

Let Beorn know that Thorin agreed to come with me so we can arrange a day to meet is near the top of the list.

Writing? I have poems I need to edit some more and an essay to refine before I post it on my blog.

Call Dad? Ask him about his church? What’s going on with that? No one said I _needed_ to go back to make sense of what Beorn told me.

The more I think about it, the more I think I should at least call Dad, though I’m rather reluctant to do so. I let my thoughts stew as I freshen up and do the laundry. I hold my phone in my hand which shakes. I brace myself for the tirade that has come each time and call him.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Dad? It’s Bilbo.”

A chuckle. “ _Well, I guessed it might be. I only have one kid_.” Good start. “ _So, what prompted you to call me for once?_ ”

“Your church. Er, Church of the Redeemer. I heard it, uh, became open and affirming. Did you switch or something.”

“ _Nope,_ ” he said. “ _I still preach at Redeemer_.”

“I thought you were homophobic.”

“ _I was_ ,” he admits. “ _Having a gay son tends to change one’s views. Bilbo, I haven’t been homophobic for a long time. You just_ wanted _me to be. God only knows why._ ”

I sigh, placing my head between my legs. “I guess I was just holding onto a lot more anger than I thought,” I say.

“ _Hmm. How about you come up for Church tomorrow? See for yourself_.”

“Dad I live in Manhattan. I can’t make a commute _that early_ in the morning. And I don’t have a car.”

“ _You can come today then and stay the night. I can set up the guest room at the parsonage. We’ll have dinner at Lombardo’s and you can get back to Manhattan after church._ ”

I shake my head. Why is he so insistent I go _tomorrow_? Money might be a little tight…

But what else are credit cards for?

“Well, it’s not like I’ve anything I really have to do here at home.” Most of what I need to do can be done literally _anywhere_.“ _All right,_ ” Dad said. “ _I’ll see you around six or seven?_ ”

“Eight at the latest. I’ll call if it ends up being later. I’ll see you then, Dad.”

We exchange goodbyes and hang up. I’m somewhat startled by how… _civil_ it was as a conversation. If it could be called a conversation.

I pack, enough for the night, including my laptop and edits.

I text Thorin, telling him that I’m heading to Albany and that I’ll see him later in the week instead as I head to Penn Station for “Empire Service” Train 235.

#

Dad is in the garden between the parking lot and the church. The gravel path is surrounded by flowers of various kinds, nurtured by his hand, shaded by some trees and bushes with leaves that poke through the iron bars. A statue of Jesus with his hands outstretched and palms up, stares at others, trying to wed stoicism and kindness together. A stone bench, the legs covered in moss, stands alone just off the path.

Dad wears a straw sunhat on his head and overalls over a white long sleeved shirt. His hand are donned in tight woven gardening gloves and he holds pruning shears in on hand.

“Dad?”

He looks up and sets the shears down, removing his gloves. “Five all ready? I didn’t think you’d be here for another hour”

“Closer to six,” I say. “The train ended up being faster than I thought it’d be.”

“Ah,” he said, removing his hat. “Well, I guess if you like to get settled in while I freshen up, we’ll talk during dinner.”

“Sure,” I say. My hands are shaking and my head is a little foggy. It’s bound to be an awkward night without having to feel nervous.

“Well, I was going to give you the guest room, but then I remembered that, uh, you’re old room hasn’t been touched.”

“Dad, I’ve not lived here for years,” I remind him. “You can turn it into a personal _bowling alley_ for all I care.”

He laughs. “I’m not sure the church budget would appreciate _that_. Bowling is more fun with at least one other person anyway.” He opens the door for me. “Well, I’m going to get ready…”

“Sure,” I say. “I’ll be working, so just knock on the door when you’re ready.” Dad nods, heading out of the room. I exhale heavily, dropping my bag on the bed. I expected dust to fly off the bed and for there to be a layer of filth on the desk.

None of the sort. The window is open, letting in a soft breeze. The sheets, when I feel them in my hand are washed. The desk pressed against the adjacent wall shines brown. I _think_ the carpet had been vacuumed. The closet, when I open it, is as empty as it was when I left, my old bookshelf resides in it now. I scan the shelves. My eyes rest on a brown book, letters fading.

I pick it up, flipping through it. My eyes catch a passage, highlighted and underlined.

_“For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future…”_

My handwriting in the margins is a little hard to read, but I make it out:

_Whatever happens, no matter what may come, I can rely on God to guide me through my life in both good and bad times. He never abandoned his people before. He won’t abandon them now._

I take a shaky breath. God, I used to believe this stuff with all my heart. And after I came out, it just…everything fell apart and…

I close my old Bible.

“You know, it’s said that a Bible that is falling apart belongs to someone who isn’t,” Dad said, from the doorway. He’s changed into black slacks, a button-down shirt, and a tweed jacket.

“That was a long time ago,” I say. “I’m not who I was when I was a kid.”

“No one grows up with a firm grasp on their youth, Bilbo. We are supposed to change as we grow and who we were before becomes a memory. The question is whether or not we change for the better.”

I stand and leave my Bible on the desk. “I don’t know if I did change for better. Probably not…College…my twenties…looking back, the past few years had been really dark and now I’m seeing a change I didn’t know was happening to me.”

Dad hummed. “Well, at least we can perhaps talk about it civilly at Lombardo’s.”

I snort. “Sure. Just…hold off judging me until _after_ I’ve told you all the horrible things I’ve done since leaving home.”

I didn’t mean for it to come out as bitterly as it did. I sigh, turning away from Dad, my hand resting on the worn leather covering of my Bible.

“Oh, Bilbo.”

Dad wraps his arms around me. I freeze, eyes feeling like they’re about to pop out of my head and my body tenses involuntarily.  He hasn’t so much as shaken my hand since I came out…hasn’t hugged me since Jr. High.

“I am sorry, Son. I never wanted you to feel like you were being judged for something you couldn’t help. Bilbo, there isn’t _anything_ you can do that will make me love you less than I do.”

He releases me, patting my arm.

“Let’s go.”

“Yeah,” I whisper, following him to his car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize to those of you who have read the last chapter! The church I was going to use as Bungo’s church was actually NOT in Albany, so I changed that in the last chapter and in this one. Again, I apologize. So I switched Church of the Redeemer (which is actually in Addison, NY) to the First Church in Albany. It is a real church. It is open and affirming for close to four years now. (Both are real churches, just so you know.)


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want you to know that the next chapter (or more) may be a little heavier on the theology. My goal in doing this is NOT to try and convert people. It is 1) a plot device since Bilbo is returning to see if the changes he’s heard about are true, and 2) just a way to help you all who are curious about the church get an inside look. 
> 
> After reading this chapter, you are free to ask me questions about the Church, Christianity, theology, etc and I’ll do my best to answer your questions and direct you to other places that may do a better job than I. 
> 
> (You can actually do that any time you like)

We get a table in the back for privacy, sending for wine to be brought to our table as we flip through the menu. (Which is just for show on my part: I fully intend to just get spaghetti with meat sauce.)

“So,” Dad begins and it takes so much for me not to flinch. More because it’s been so long since we’ve… _talked_ without trying to find fault. Or was that just me this whole time? “I didn’t think you’d find out that…”

“You got the church to become pro-gay.”

“It wasn’t easy,” he admitted. “It took a lot of personal reflection, research, and only God knows how much praying. The board discussed it, we prayed over it, we decided to go through with it the more the truth of what the Bible _actually says_ was revealed to us.” He smiles. “Of course, we _did_ lose members, but I suppose that’s only to be expected.”

I nod. “I would guess so. Most of your generation grew up in an extremely homophobic era. And with so many…” I swallow, staring at the menu without really reading it.

“There’s been a bit of a small influx of young adults, though,” he said. “Which is always good: the church needs to reach to the younger generation. They’re going to be the ones who influence the world in a way… _my generation_ failed to.”

I arch a brow. “The seventies weren’t _that_ bad.”

Dad snorted. “Perhaps not…really, though, Bilbo, there isn’t much I can tell you about the changes that were made. It’s essentially the same church it’s always been—”

I correct him: “No, it’s not the same. Just by making that… _one small change_ , you…you’ve probably reached to an otherwise unreachable minority who was told for who knows how long that the way they feel is wrong, perverted, or disgusting. I didn’t even _know_ there were Churches that were pro-gay until…until two days ago and on top of that, I find out _your church_ where you’re still the _pastor_ is one of these churches…why didn’t you tell me?”

“Would you have come? Or have believed me if I told you? I honestly wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t,” he sighed. “I don’t blame you for being angry at me, Bilbo. I pushed you away when you were suffering and I don’t think there is really anything I can do to make that right. I have repented for it enough times, but how can I ever find peace with what I did to you?”

I shake my head. “I think you’ve got a good start. I never dared to hope you’d…” I swallow. “I never thought you’d accept me for who I am.”

The waiter returns with the wine, leaving the bottle for us and asking us if we need a little more time. We don’t, and after he jots down what we want, he walks away.

I lean on the table, pressing my head into the palm of my hand. “You don’t want to know what I’ve done,” I say. “I was angry, bitter…I was drowning and I didn’t even know it.”

“What changed?” Dad asked.

I bite my lip. When did things start to change in my life? It’s a good question, given that I don’t know…

I open my mouth to tell him so, but instead I say: “Dwalin died.”

Dad’s face fell. “Oh, Bilbo, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. When?”

I don’t even know why I said that, or how I know it to be true. It just…it _was_ when my life started to change.

“Almost a year ago now,” I begin. “He was in Afghanistan and was caught in an explosion. His memorial was at the beginning of November last year. After that…” I shake my head. “It’s like I’ve been gripped tight and pulled out of a hole I didn’t know I was in. I’m not…I wasn’t going back to Church or anything like that…it’s just that…several months after, I met a guy and he…we’ve been together only a few weeks now and…I don’t even know how he’s doing it—no, he’s not the kind of guy I’ve been with before. And neither was Dwalin, just so you know. He emulated the style, but he wasn’t…wasn’t who I was with before. And neither is my current partner.”

Dad held his hand up, a small smile on his face. “I learned that a little while later. I found an article Dwalin had written for the _Times_. He was a brave man and I bet he is sorely missed for it. I know you loved him, Bilbo. And that he loved you, otherwise you’d not have been together as long as you were.”

I nod. I did love Dwalin.

“This new man, though, he sounds like a good man.”

I almost snort, smiling. “You’ve no idea.” I can’t bring myself to tell him that he and Dad are both in the same line of work. Mostly because of the huge difference between Protestants and Catholics.

Our food arrives and we thank the waiter, digging in and talking.

Dad’s church is looking for a new youth pastor because the one there right now is moving to Florida. (I wish him luck. Florida and New York have extremely different climates.)

I reveal that Bofur and Nori are getting married.

It shifts to Mom. Neither of us has seen her in a while. Dad because of distance, me because of, well, reasons best left unsaid. I feel bad because Mom’s been a full supporter of mine I think I’ve been upset long enough about the stunt she pulled at that tea party of hers.

The divorce went through.

For the first time in my life, Dad looks…

There really isn’t any word for it. Though I know my dad is as human as anyone else, it is still frightening to see.

How fucking blind have I been? Even if their marriage failed, Dad still loves her. He wouldn’t have wanted a divorce. He never believed in it to begin with.

He probably agreed to it because Mom wanted it…

“…Mr. Durin, I think we have reached an agreement.”

I almost turn around, recognizing the name. My heart races and my throat constricts.

“Excellent!”

That is _not_ Thorin. The voice is a little higher in pitch, and wavers slightly.

Dad is busy eating, so while eating, I turn toward the men. One is young, about my age. Tall, slender, and there is a glint in his eyes that worries me. His hair is a mop of black curls and he is donned in a black suit with a red dress shirt and silver tie.

The other man is easily in his seventies. And his eyes are the exact same shade of blue as Thorin’s. He wears a mustache with pride—but no beard.

Still, I can only assume this man is Thorin’s grandfather.

“We at Erebor Bank look forward to working with you, Mr. Smaug.”

“As do I, Mr. Durin,” Smaug replied. Why he seems so repulsive to me…I can’t put a name on it.

“Excuse me,” I say, standing and heading to the bathroom and start washing my hands. (The alternative was to pace the room and I doubt that would be an image I should keep.

_Should I tell Thorin? What if what I feel is nothing? What if—_

I start when hands slide around my waist. Smaug smirks down at me.

“Been a while.”

“What do you mean?”

His smirk falters. “Now that is just cruel—”

“Look, I don’t know you,” I snap. “And I’m certainly not interested in whatever you’re offering. So let the fuck go of me.”

He pulls me closer to him instead. “Admittedly, one passionate night is not enough to start a relationship. Especially given how much you had drunk, so I guess I should not be surprised you don’t remember me. I never forgot you—”

I curl my hands into fists. It’s _him_?

“I was _drunk_ because my partner had just been killed,” I snarled. “There was absolutely no possible way for me to have consented. Nor would I have were I not inebriated. Besides, I wouldn’t willingly agree to go with you now even if you weren’t a creep. I have a lover, all right?”

Smaug hums, releasing me. “Interesting,” he purred, sending unpleasant shivers down my spine. “Well then, I missed my chance. Having the police tailing me on rape charge was rather…cumbersome, but if my advances are really unwanted…”

“They _aren’t_ ,” I growl, gritting my teeth.

He holds his hands up. “Okay. I get it. But here,” he hands me a card. “If your _lover_ bores you, or you break up with them, or vice versa, give me a call.”

I take it and he leaves. When the door is closed, I rip the card into pieces and leave Thorin a message on his phone when he doesn’t answer. I’m shaking. From fear or fury, I can’t tell. Maybe both.

I _never_ want to run into Smaug again.

#

My hands shake as they fumble with the buttons, trying to dress. I feel sick, my nerves jumbling my senses and repeatedly roiling my stomach into feeling like its performing somersaults.

I breathe deeply, picking up my suit jacket and meet Dad downstairs. He stares. “Looking sharp,” he said, fighting a smile.

“What?” I ask. I know it’s been a while since I’ve been to Church, but…did I do something wrong in the way I dressed? I doubt it.

“It’s nothing, just that the practice of ‘dressing in your Sunday best’ is considered rather…old. Hardly anyone your age dresses up for Church anymore, rather content to come in jeans, t-shirt, and a hoodie.”

“Great,” I mutter. “Now I’m over dressed.”

“Its fine,” Dad assured me as we stepped out of the parsonage, “the tradition’s not _completely_ done away with.”

“I still feel overdressed,” I mumble. Dad pats my shoulder, greeting the woman out front, brown hair sprinkled grey, blue eyes, round face…I somewhat recognize her, but not entirely. Her brow furrows at me and a bright grin lights her face.

“Bilbo! My goodness, you’ve grown up handsome!”

“Er…Mrs. Brownlock?”

She nods, pulling me into a hug. “Welcome home.”

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to reply, so I settle for “thank you.” She hands me a pamphlet listing the order of service and I head into the sanctuary.

I first see the pulpit where several musical instruments are set. Musicians are taking their place. Placed in the back is a rainbow flag with a cross next to the American flag. Four aisles break apart four columns of pews. I’m about to take a seat in the back close to the doors when a man approaches me.

“Bilbo?”

I look at him, wondering if I know him. Nothing comes to mind. “Sorry…I…”

“Andy Roper-Gamgee,” he said, “We used to be in the same Sunday School class until…well, you know.”

Andy? Andy…An—

“Oh my God!” I cover my eyes, blushing. How does one forget a close friend (or former close friend)? “Apparently I’m more disoriented than I thought,” I say as a means to apologize. “I am so sorry, Andy.”

He waves me off. “It’s been a while. I probably don’t look the same as I did. You do, though. Apart from looking older, you’ve not changed much in your appearance.”

I chuckle. “I’m not sure I should take that as a compliment or not…but to save insult and injury, I think I’ll just assume it was.”

“It _was_. C’mon,” he said, “Some of the old gang’s still around.”

“I wouldn’t want to—”

“You’re _not_ imposing if you’re invited,” Andy snapped, pulling me along to an aisle almost entirely taken by different families with children still too young to break away from the group.

“It’s smaller than you remember,” he said. “Not everyone liked the changes that were made almost four years ago now, but Milo’s here and Gilly…my wife Mattie…”

The musicians are striking a tune while I’m reacquainted with the people I knew in Jr. High and High School. There’s a hint of fear in their eyes when they recognize me. I see it now. It’s in Andy’s eyes too, though he’s been so welcoming.

The same group I used to study with, that shunned me, now fear me. They know all too well why that is and I wonder what it is they really fear? Me or my judgment of them for what they did.

Music blares from the pulpit, and the chatter silences, eyes drawn to the wall where lyrics shine off the bare white wall. I look up to see an overhead projector screwed into the ceiling. The voices echoed off the walls:

_Light of the world you stepped down into darkness_

_Opened my eyes, let me see_

_Beauty that made this heart adore you_

_Hope of a life spent with you…_

I don’t sing, reading the lyrics. My hands shake and I grip the back of the bench in front of me. Even when the song shifts to one I recognize, I can’t bring myself to sing. A part of it has to do with how tight my throat feels and another has to do with how thick my tongue feels…

I avert my gaze from the walls, staring at my hands, white knuckled.

 _You don’t belong here. Not after all the fucked up stuff you’ve done. Forget your sexuality—even if you can’t help_ that _, you didn’t have to do drugs and the drunken blackouts. The_ sex _. What do you think you’re doing here? No one is going to forgive you—_

I sigh. _You’re not me. Yeah, I did some stupid shit and I do regret it. That doesn’t give you the fucking right to belittle me._

 _Of course I’m_ you. _What? You think the Devil exists? Didn’t you renounce any and all beliefs tied to that—_

A hand presses against my shoulder. Andy looks at me. “Okay?” he asks.

I shake my head. He squeezes my shoulder, and starts to pray.

For me.

I’ve never felt such _peace_ …such _relief_ , wash over me as it had in that moment. My thoughts about what I was thinking coming today just…I can’t even accurately explain it, they just _stopped_ and a voice echoed in my mind: _I’m with you…I never left…_

There wasn’t anything else I could do but weep, tears wetting my hands. The music ends and we sit as announcements are read aloud, a prayer spoken and the people allowed to disperse, greeting each other after not having seen each other for a week.

Andy and I stay where we are and I let him pray, too overwhelmed do much of anything else. His wife returns, handing me a Styrofoam cup filled with water. I thank her, holding it in my shaking hands. She takes her seat again, one hand on her pregnant belly.

This place…it’s changed completely. The last time I had come—I hate remembering—I had been shunned, treated as though I was a leper or worse for something I couldn’t help.

Just like a leper.

For so long I didn’t feel the love that I had once believed in and it was the fault of the people who used to come here.

The music started up again. “You okay?” Andy asked.

“I’ve been better,” I admit. “It’s just…” I sigh. “I can’t shake this fear that I made a mistake in coming here, despite Dad’s insistence. I just…I heard that it became open and affirming and…I just…”

“Wanted to see for yourself?”

“Yes.”

Andy sighed. “I am sorry, Bilbo. We failed you. You were our brother and we just…Well, you know. We were bigoted and blind and we did something terrible to you because of a skewed idea of what was said in Scripture. Even if we weren’t ready to understand, we should have accepted you as you are anyway. I should have done that.”

I sip from the cup, hoping to calm my stomach. “It was almost fifteen years ago.”

“It doesn’t matter how long ago it was,” Andy said. “It’s going to haunt us for the rest of our lives.”

The music started to die and Dad took the spotlight.

He fixes his glasses, staring at the notes he had laid out on the podium and turned on his microphone attached to his belt.

“Sometimes,” he began, “It is hard to express our love. For instance,” he smiled at the crowd. “One man decided to do something nice for his wife. He vacuumed the carpet, washed the dishes, dusted, and did the laundry. He dressed nicely, had a box of candy and a bouquet of roses in hand. His wife came home and exclaimed, ‘I don’t believe it! Little Jonny’s sick, the dishwasher broke, and your parents are coming to dinner! To top it off, you’re drunk?!’”

A few chuckles carried through the sanctuary. I found myself snorting, staring at my hands.

“Poor guy.”

More chuckles. His sense of humor has not changed. Which is nice…sort of…

I still want to groan and shake my head in shame. Even deny knowing him.

Good times.

“Love conjures many pictures, but what is it? Is love action or feeling? For some, love is solely romance expressed through materials that can be purchased such as candy and flowers. We express love through materialistic endeavors. ‘I love you’ can mean many things from ‘I really like you’ to ‘I like what you do for me,’ to ‘I want to commit my life to you.’

“First John four, eight says, ‘the one who does not love does not know God, for God is love.’”

He looks up from his notes, “First John four, seven reminds us that love comes from God. How has God shown us his love? What is love meant to look like? Not materialistic things like flowers and chocolates, but through sacrifice.

“The love of God is true love: sacrificial, radical, and downright terrifying…”

#

I sneak away downstairs after the service ends, needing time alone, to gather myself and sort through this _battle_ taking place inside me.

I groan hunching over holding my head in my hands and shaking.

“Bilbo?” I look up. Dad frowns at me. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. I just…none of what…It wasn’t what I expected.”

Dad sits beside me. “A lot of changes were made, true, and I think we have become better at being a people who show God to the world. No one is going to judge you for who you are here.”

“Maybe you’ve changed in that you know now that homosexuality can’t be a sin, but that doesn’t mean I’m not a sinner. I am. But…”

“So am I. Everyone upstairs is a sinner. There’s only one person who is without sin and he is the reason we are here today, able to worship. Bilbo, it is okay to be upset. It’s okay to be overwhelmed. It happens to the best of us. No one is going to judge you for it. No one here hasn’t felt it at least once.”

I shake my head.

“There is _nothing_ you can do that cannot be wiped clean,” Dad said. “There are many tales that remind us of this. One of the more notable and clearest story is that of the Prodigal Son.”

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Dad that’s just a story.”

“You’re the literary genius. Is it really just a story?” I look at him.

“No,” I say. “It has a moral lesson behind it with a theme of forgiveness, acceptance, and reconciliation,” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “And hope,” I add as an afterthought.

“Exactly. It doesn’t matter to me what you’ve done or how you lived your life. You’re changing and whatever happened in your past has made you a strong man I am proud to call my son.” He squeezes my shoulder. “Come upstairs. There’s finger sandwiches and juice. A little food in you might help.”

“Or make me vomit.”

Dad snorts. “Keep close to the bathroom then.” I roll my eyes. It’s not funny.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to come back to all this. I might never be ready.”

“That’s okay. You’re welcome here any time you’re in town.”

“Which is far and few between,” I remind him. “Manhattan is pretty far from Albany.”

“The offer still stands,” he says, standing. I join him, following him up the stairs. My phone rings and I answer.

“Hello?”

“ _You are so lucky I wasn’t leading mass today!_ ” Thorin growled. “ _I’m out of my mind with worry—you’re_ sure _the man’s name was Smaug?_ ”

“I’m sure. And I’m sorry,” I fill a cup with juice, trying not to be awkward while I mingle. “I didn’t mean to scare you so much.”

“ _I know_ ,” Thorin sighed. “ _It’s just that…I_ know _Smaug. If he’s after my family…Bilbo the man’s a dragon. Literally. He’s greedy and near unstoppable and impenetrable._ ”

“That’s not comforting.”

“ _I’ll try to talk to my grandfather, persuade him to end the contract or convince Dad to do something about it, but I don’t think there’s much I can do. When are you coming home?_ ”

“Ooh…” That’s right. I have to get home. “Maybe in an hour from now,” I say, looking at the clock. “Depends on when I can catch the train. At earliest I’ll be heading home in an hour.”

“ _I’m not interrupting the service, am I? Mass ended just fifteen minutes ago and I just escaped to my office and…_ ”

“Thorin, you’re fine. I’m eating a cookie.”

I take a bite, finding Dad in the crowd, talking to Andy and Mattie.

“ _Is it a good cookie_?”

“Yes. I’d go into detail of _how_ good it is, but then I’d be making alliterations and comparisons that really shouldn’t be used in the middle of a church foyer lest I wish to freak everyone out.”

Thorin laughed. “ _No. Probably not._ ” I hear him sigh. “ _Be careful. Call me when you’re back in Manhattan_.”

“Okay. I will. Love you.”

“ _Love you too._ ”

“Bye, Babe.” Thorin returns the farewell and the call ends. I pocket my phone and finish the cookie whose value in taste had been grossly misconstrued.

It’s not as orgasmic as I led Thorin to believe, but it was a well made cookie. Soft and gooey with a sharp flavor from melted chocolate chips.

I’ve _made_ better than these, but they’re edible.

“Who were you talking to earlier?” Andy asked, pulling away from the others. “Your partner?”

I nod. “He couldn’t make it. Work.”

“Pity. I speak for the rest of us in saying we’d like to meet him.”

“I’ll see if I can convince him to come up some time then.” I doubt it. Thorin won’t come up to Albany for a church service when he usually needs to be readily available to lead a service at his parish.

I call Thorin when I board the train. I only meant to tell him I’m still alive since my man’s gotten slightly paranoid since I mentioned that Smaug-guy. I wonder where they know each other…

Getting off at Penn Station, Thorin is waiting for me with a bouquet of daisies. I laugh, kissing him. “What’s this?”

He shrugged. “I missed you.”

“So you brought me daisies?” I ask, looping my arm in his and taking his hand in mine, the bouquet cradled in my arms.

“The flower shop was out of roses,” he said.

“The bouquet shop is _never_ out of roses,” I say. “Roses are too popular.”

“Well, this one _was_ out of roses,” he argued, running a hand through his hair and grimacing.

I laugh. “Thank you for the flowers. You didn’t have to meet me.”

“I wanted to,” he said, leaning down to kiss me. A part of me wants to remind him that we need to be more careful in case Thorin is recognized even when dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, but no one calls us out or even minds. (Okay, a couple teenage girls saw us and giggled, but that doesn’t count.) He looks around.

“Fili! Kili!”

The boys run toward us from a bench they were waiting at.

“Hi Bilbo!” Kili said, running into me. “Is the gross stuff done now?”

“Gross stuff?” I ask. _What is he talking about?_

“He means you two being cute,” Fili clarified.

Thorin snorts. “Yes. The ‘gross stuff’ is done now.”

“It could come back,” I add, grinning. The boys scrunched their faces up.

“You’re not allowed to do any gross stuff!” Kili said. “We’re impressionable children! Adults aren’t allowed to do any gross stuff around us!”

Well, that’s true. But I don’t think that includes kissing. Thorin kisses me to tease them, receiving loud protests from the boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Know that every church follow different orders of services and since I live on the other side of the country than where this story is set, it is impossible for me to give you an accurate representation of how The First Church in Albany worships. You’ll actually get a look into how my old home church, North Seattle Church of the Nazarene (NSCN), worships. The act of communion or the Eucharist is followed differently in most churches too. Most of the churches I’ve been to, save NSCN, have a weekly communion. NSCN has communion monthly. Since most churches I have been to have communion weekly that is the practice that will be depicted here.
> 
> Just so you know, and if you’re interested in looking up these songs and listening to them on Youtube (these are the songs I listened to while writing this chapter and that are being featured, though mostly unmentioned):  
> "Here I am to Worship" "Shout to the Lord" "Blessed be your Name"  
> "10,000 Reasons" "Our God is Greater" "Mighty to Save"
> 
> Sermon based on: http://www.sermoncentral.com/sermons/gods-love-jeffery-anselmi-sermon-on-gods-provision-33755.asp
> 
> One other thing! "The Parable of the Prodigal Son" is one of my favorite Bible stories. Here’s a link if you want to read it: http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Luke%2015%3A11-32
> 
> On another note: It's my birthday today! Have a chapter.


	16. Chapter 16

Thorin and I meet at Beorn’s studio on Thursday. He’s grimacing, but I pay it no mind, twining my fingers between his and kissing his knuckles.

“Ready?”

He sighs. “As I’ll ever be, I suppose.” Bilbo gave Thorin’s hand a squeeze and they entered the studio.

“Bilbo, Thorin,” Beorn greeted, shaking their hands. “Thank you for making the time to come.”

“It’s not a problem,” I say, stuffing my hands back in my pockets.

Thorin only nodded, his gaze dark and intent on Beorn before we were ushered to sit in make-up chairs.

My hair is tamed back with styling gel. A set of clothes are given to me. Khaki pants, brown leather boots, a white t-shirt, and a fur lined, brown leather coat. Once dressed, I’m ushered into to a set.

“I thought this was for modern representations of Greek gods,” I say, “Not aviators.”

“Well,” Beorn said, “Aeolus is the god of wind.”

“Ah. Now it makes sense,” I say…and frown. “I should have known that. Same Aeolus from _The Odyssey_?”

“Yep.”

I shake my head.

“What?”

“I should have known that. I read the fucking _Odyssey_ enough times…”

“Beat yourself up later,” Beorn suggests. “Right now, I want you to exude confidence.”

I cross my arms over my chest and smirk.

“Smirk is too haughty and crossed arms too closed off,” he said. “Rather than smirk, smile naturally, hands in your pockets. Look right at the camera.”

Looking at the camera helped shield my eyes from the lights flashing, but I still saw spots in the end after about…a couple hours? I don’t know.

When I could see clearly again, I sought out Thorin. And my mouth nearly dropped when I finally did.

“Why do you get the cool outfit?!” I shout in what I hoped was feigned affront.

Thorin glanced at me. He was dressed in a grey suit that _looked_ , given the theme, like stardust. Only the top button of the coat was clasped closed. Beneath it he wore a cream dress shirt. His feet were adorned in reddish-brown boots.

“It’s not quite done!” a girl said, handing him what looked like another coat.

It was actually a furred vest he put on, left unzipped and was about to turn down the collar when Beorn made cutting motions on his neck. “Collar up on the vest,” he said, and Thorin left it alone.

When the scenes Thorin was going to do—including the completely bright green one, which Beorn said was meant to make it easier for him to choose a different background when he compiled the photos for a group one (similar to the one of all the Norse gods out in the hall)—were ready, I watched, eyes fixed on Thorin. I can’t really be blamed. Nor can I blame the two ladies drooling behind me.

Thorin is _hot_. I know, it’s a universal fact, but dear _God_ , the man is a gift to mankind and _yet_ he’s stuck in the priesthood— _I know_ it was something he chose when he was still a kid, but…

It’s not fair. Not fair at all.

I’ll take comfort in the fact that he’s exclusively mine and drink in the image of him staring stoically into the camera, the god of sleep. Damn, I wonder…if Beorn had Cupid already, would…probably not. The image of the Greek Cupid is completely different from how Thorin looks.

Ares?

Hades?

Yeah. Either of them would work for Thorin.

Eventually the shots are done and we go to change into our day clothes. I nudge Thorin with my elbow. “You should recreate that outfit.”

“ _No_.”

“Why not?” I ask. “You looked good.”

“I felt _ridiculous_. What reason would I have for wearing a _vest_ with a _suit_?!”

“No one said fashion had to make sense,” I said, latching onto his arm. “But if it really didn’t work for you, the vest can go. It worked well without it. That better?”

Thorin sighed. “Yeah, I suppose.” I kissed his cheek above the line where his beard grew in.

“Thank you, Darling.”

His blush was worth it. “Hungry?”

“Definitely!”

“Good, there’s something I want to discuss with you. May as well get food while we do so.”

“Uh-oh. Good something or bad something?”

“Can’t tell yet, but I’ve been thinking about it for a while. Since we fought, actually.”

“That sounds like a _bad_ something,” I say. I’m worried and a little terrified. We made up, didn’t we? What is bothering him?

Thorin took my hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m not going to break up with you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried—”

“I love you, but your face is an open book. It’s not anything like that. Trust me.”

“Then why not just tell me now? Depending on what you say, we’ll go eat or I’ll leave your ass here.”

“Trust me, I think you’ll want to go have dinner if I tell you or not. Will you relax? Please?”

“I will when you tell me what’s up—”

I clipped my argument short when Beorn approached. “Thanks, guys.”

“Not a problem,” I reply. “Thank you for having us.”

Thorin tenses beside me. I don’t understand why he’s still so mistrustful of Beorn. I squeeze his hand, rubbing my thumb gently into his skin. We exchange addresses so that the money we earned would be mailed to us.

“Have a nice night,” Beorn said as we left. I returned the farewell and Thorin nods his head at Beorn, cold as ever. I nudge him. “Try to be nicer next time.”

Thorin rolls his eyes, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “I don’t like him.”

“I know, but that doesn’t excuse your behavior, Priest.”

Thorin sighed. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

“Now will you tell me what’s up?”

Thorin sighed again. “Fine. I’m thinking I should leave the clergy.”

I stop, pulling away from him. “What?” I ask. “Thorin, are you absolutely _sure_ you want to do this? You’ve been a priest for _how long_? And you wanted to be a part of the clergy since you were a kid!”

“I _know_ ,” he said, “I know. It’s just…” We stepped out of people’s way, closer to a building. “I love you, Bilbo, and I don’t want to give up my job—”

“Then _don’t_.”

“But like you said, I don’t _have_ to choose. But hiding our relationship is _hard_ on both of us. Probably more on me, since I’m the one terrified of being found and yet when I’m with you I don’t even _care_. I’m not as cautious as you are.”

“Thorin, I’m not being careful either. But that doesn’t mean you should quit! You love your job—”

“And I still do.”

“Then why—”

“I’m thinking of switching to a protestant practice.”

I blink. “Oh.”

“That’s it?”

“Well, it’s…a _very_ big switch,” I say. “Protestant churches don’t work the same way as Catholic churches. Depending on the practice you choose, are you _sure_ that you can make that transition.”

“I’ll just have to find one that works for me that’s open and affirming. Look, Bilbo, I _can’t_ balance both. Each time I see you with someone who’s interested in you, I get jealous. I can’t fathom _why_. I don’t like the way others look at you, and I _hate_ that they could take you from me without any qualms, without knowing you’re _mine_. I can’t go through that again. I _hated_ the way I acted at Riverside, and I _hate_ that I had hurt you that day even though it wasn’t even _you_ I was angry at. I love you and I want the world to know it. I can’t do that if I’m wearing the collar.”

I press my forehead to his chest, sighing. “Are you _absolutely sure_ you want to do this, Thorin?”

“Yes.”

“I can talk to my dad about it, if that’s okay with you. Maybe he can help.” I really hope so.

“Thank you, Bilbo. Thank you.”

I open my mouth to respond when his phone rings. He pulls it out of his pocket. “Fili,” he said.

“Answer it,” I tell him. We walk to the station as he talks to Fili, frowning.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay? We can talk more when I’m home. I’m sorry, Kid. I don’t think there’s much I can do, but we’ll figure it out.”

“What’s going on?” I ask when he hung up. “Is Fili okay?”

“My family’s being investigated by the IRS. Fili’s scared that if things go wrong, he and Kili might be taken away, put in foster care.”

“They can’t even do that. The IRS don’t handle that. Social services, yes, but the IRS wouldn’t care?”

“But if they think Fili and Kili aren’t safe living with my grandfather, then they can get social services involved.” His jaw is clenched. “Dirty bastard.”

“What?”

“ _Smaug_. This just reeks of his filth.”

“Why? What does he want with your family?” I ask. Thorin ran his hand through his hair as we descend into the subway station.

“It’s not something I’d like to talk about in public, if that’s okay.”

“Then tell me _that_ at dinner. Or even after at home. But I want to know.” Thorin bit his lip. He’s nervous and I’m not sure I like seeing him nervous.

“At home. After dinner.”

“Okay.” We step onto the train. “After dinner.”

#

 _Drake Smaug was my roommate in my freshman year of college,_ Thorn began.

 _As you can guess, his interest lied in making money, so he majored in business. However, there was something_ off _about him. Something I just couldn’t shake. In a way, he frightened me and it takes a lot to be able to do_ that _. I don’t scare easily, but…well, you can guess._

_One day, when he was out, I spied something on his desk. A pamphlet from my family’s bank. He had my grandfather’s biography and some…honestly, rather disturbing notes such as “has a history of greed,” “family prone to Alzheimer’s,” and so on._

_I confronted him about it._

_“It’s not your concern.”_

_“It_ is _my concern!” I shouted. “It’s my family you’re_ targeting _!”_

 _“What does it matter to you?” Smaug hissed. “You want to be a priest!_ When _Erebor is mine, you would do well to remember that it won’t be on you, but on him.” He pointed at the picture of my grandfather. “So, all in all, Thorin, you may be a prince, but you renounced your title. You can’t stop me.”_

_I seized his collar, slamming him against the wall._

_“I will, if I can. And you’ll wish you_ never _went after my family, you greedy bastard. Keep your claws off Erebor.”_

_“Or what?”_

_“I’ll tell the world what you are.”_

_Smaug laughed._

_After that, he changed rooms and we never saw each other again._

_I kept my eye on him though._

_Several businesses, after collaborating with Smaug, have been audited by the IRS. He_ “rescues” _them after a few months by buying the establishment and pushing the previous owners into the gutter._

_So many people have lost so much because of his scam._

_I may not agree with the way my family runs things, but they’re still my family…_

He tapped his finger against the glass before picking it up and finishing his coke.

“Did you tell them about him? Warn them?”

Thorin nodded. “I have. But it seems my grandfather is either dismissing what I told him or is definitely growing senile in his age. He doesn’t have Alzheimer’s yet and I don’t know if he ever will have it. I hope not…but that’s beside the point. Smaug’s attacked. I guess he thinks I’m removed enough that I don’t pose a threat to him anymore.”

“Were you before?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I can’t think of any other reason why he’d not go after Erebor after all this time. I don’t know how to stop him, Bilbo. Not at this point.”

“Expose him, maybe?”

“I’d love to do that. But I don’t know where to start. And all I have are theories. All I know is that he’s a dragon. I could let my family know that they should have listened to me, show them what I’ve found, show that…I just don’t know, Bilbo…”

I take his hand in mine.

“Thorin, tell them what you know. Theory or not, they might listen to you. The boys love you and _they_ know something is wrong. I think they’ll listen this time if they didn’t before.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t,” I admit, “But trying has to count for something. Right?”

Thorin sighs. “I suppose. My brother will listen, I’m sure of that. My sister and brother-in-law definitely if child services is getting involved.”

I take his hand in mine. “We’ll figure this out, Thorin. I promise.” I squeeze it gently. “You want to stay at my place tonight?”

He blinked. “Do you want me to stay with you?”

To be honest, I’d like him to stay with me every night. I know it’s a bit early to think that way, but that’s how I feel.

“I would like you to, but I won’t blame you if you decide to stay at your place instead. After all, Nori and Bofur…let’s just say they’ve been very loud.”

He snorted, “We could mess with them.”

I grin. “We could! Just lean against the wall, pretending to have sex. Yeah, good times.”

“You’ve done it before?”

“A couple times. They deserve it. Especially when I’m losing sleep because their banging the fucking headboard against the wall.” I sigh. “Nothing spices up one’s sex life like getting engaged, it seems.”

“After ten years, I’d think it would,” Thorin agreed. “I should actually go back to the parish tonight, though I’d love trolling your roommates. Rain check?”

“Sure.”

#

After I bid goodbye to Thorin, my phone rings. It’s an unknown number, but I answer anyway.

“Hello?”

“ _Bilbo_?” It’s a child.

“Who is this?”

“ _It’s Kili_.”

“Kili, how’d you get my phone number?”

“ _Off of Uncle Thorin’s phone. He lets me play games on it sometimes. Could you come get me?_ ”

“Kili, where are you?”

“ _Um…by Bell-vid-deer Castle._ ”

_Oh my God._

I turn around and run toward Thorin, calling his name. He stops and holds his hands out as though asking me _what the hell_.

I hand him the phone. “Hello? _Kili_! How did—never mind, what’s wrong? _What_? Where are you? Kili, _don’t_ move. Bilbo and I will meet you there. Find a place to hide—I _know_ no one’s after you, but I’d feel better if you hide, okay? I’m putting Bilbo back on.”

He handed me my phone while he pulled out his. If our places were switched…yeah, I’d be calling Kili’s parents.

“Kili, we’re coming right now,” I say as we stride through the crowd, slowly picking up pace.

“ _Okay_.”

“Either Thorin or I will call you when we get there. If anything happens, if someone finds you, _don’t go with them_. If they insist on it—”

“ _Call the police_.”

“Yes. We’ll be there as soon as we can. Keep your phone out.”

“Okay.”

We ran toward the park, pushing past other pedestrians, earning loud protests as we ran. In retrospect, our panic may be unwarranted. It’s only eight o’clock at night.

But Kili, who’s ten, is at Central Park.

At night.

Wouldn’t his phone have a GPS? I shake the thought from my head, rushing after Thorin. The man’s a fucking cheetah! How does he run that fast?!

We enter the park, running for the castle. I skid to a halt beside him and call Kili, breathing heavily. “K..Kili?”

“ _Are you guys here_?”

“Yeah.”

“Thorin!” A woman shouted, running toward us.

“ _I’ll be out soon._ ”

“Where is he?”

“We just got here, Bilbo?”

“Coming out,” I huff. “Ow…” Fucking cramps. The door opened and Kili stepped out, staring at the ground. He looked up and his face fell.

“You called _Mom_?!”

“Would you rather I had called the police?” Thorin countered. The woman strode up the stairs, seizing Kili’s arm and pulling him down before shaking him.

“What were you thinking?! Have you any idea how worried I was?! How _scared_?! Did you even _think_ when you left, Kili?!”

“I needed a little time away!”

“From what?! Sweetie, Dad and I are _not_ going to let you and Fili be taken away!”

I wonder if there’s a way for me to escape the awkwardness.

I glance at Thorin. He was staring at me, frowning, hands relaxing and clenching at his sides, as though battling an itch he wanted to relieve but knew he couldn’t.

The woman embraced Kili. “Don’t _ever_ run off like that again.”

“I want to stay with Bilbo,” Kili said.

My eyebrows shoot up and Thorin furrows his brow at me questioningly. I shrug. I never spent time with Kili outside the time I spent with him and Fili.

“Who?!”

“That would be me,” I say, trying not to squeak and cower under the woman’s glower.

“Dis, Bilbo is a friend of mine,” Thorin said. “He and I took the boys to dinner a couple times before.”

“I’ve no idea why Kili would want to stay at my place and I think it’s not a good idea…” I say. “Given it’s a school night.”

That should work. Dis certainly softens at the reminder. Kili, however, scowls at the concrete and is probably close to tears. Which makes me feel like shit, even if I’m being logical and responsible.

I think I’m scared of my boyfriend’s sister.

“How about,” Thorin said, “You and your boys have dinner with me and Bilbo tomorrow. Bilbo’s an excellent cook. Right?”

“Yeah,” I say. It’s true at least.

“We can talk about this. Look, Dis, I don’t know why Kili ran away, but I know you’re stressed out, so I’ll drive you two home. We’ll have dinner at Bilbo’s tomorrow…though that might be tight with his roommates and all.”

“We’ve been able to fit more before.” If the engagement party means anything.

“Not with two kids.”

“We have Play Stations,” I say, “And a couple appropriately rated games for their age…Given Kili’s allowed to play T-rated stuff.”

“He is,” Thorin said. Dis is still trying to burn me to death with her eyes. She turns to Thorin.

“Frerin is coming to,” she said, “Don’t think that just because you managed to hide it from Mom, Dad, Grams, and Gramps we don’t know where your _preferences_ lie or that I don’t know what you mean by ‘friend.’”

Oh shit.

“I’m just gonna go,” I say. “See you tomorrow.”

“You’re really going to abandon me to suffer at her claws?”

“She’s your sister,” I counter. “You’re used to the scratches. I’m not. And since you’re out…I love you, see you tomorrow.”

“Bilbo!”

I am not letting him drag me back in. Nope. I am going home.

I am going to tell my roommates to behave themselves at dinner or kick them out.

I have to at least make the apartment _somewhat_ presentable.

I have to find something to make because of this fucking impromptu dinner to figure out why Kili wants to stay at my place…

I really don’t understand why he wants to. He’s a cute kid and I like Kili (and it’s a little hard _not_ to), but we haven’t spent enough time together for something like that to be okay. (Nor do I think it would be without Thorin present at least.)

On arriving home, I collapse onto the couch. Laughter from the kitchen makes me want to scream.

“What are you two doing? Actually I don’t want to know.”

“We’re just eating ice cream,” Bofur said, entering with a bowl. “Bad day?”

“Well…Thorin’s sister knows.”

“He has a sister? Not surprised she knows then. Bombur outed me to my folks when he was ten just to spite me. My parents didn’t quite believe me though.”

“Hah! Ori did the same to me in front of my friends,” Nori said. “Dori laughed and claimed he called it. Of course, I don’t think it was out of spite. Ori was a cute little thing once upon a time. Now that I know he’s…active, I think Dori and I might have to lock him up. You’ve any idea how many secret relationship’s he’s been carrying on? The kid might as well be Genji or Don Juan.”

I wince. “That bad?”

“Bad? No. Not the love them and leave them type, but he’s certainly not building his own harem.”

“So rather than Genji or Don Juan he’s more like…” Bofur furrowed his brow. “The…the wizard from the, um, cartoon movie about the gal who gets turned into an old lady and becomes his housekeeper?”

“Howl?” I prompt.

Bofur snaps his hands. “Yes.”

Nori nods. “Yep. He’s Howl minus the moving junk heap they call a castle. Now he just needs a Sophie and Dori might stop acting like Calcifer.”

“We’ll behave tomorrow,” Bofur promised.

“Good, there will be children present.”

“Definitely have to behave then,” Nori sighed, taking a large bite out of his ice cream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's outfit:   
> http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mLambwbA_kg/TifyWQsDKlI/AAAAAAAASwA/ChGHFnTh7o8/s1600/Winter%2BMen%2BModern%2BClothing%2BCollection15.jpg


	17. Chapter 17

My rather _hectic_ day began at noon with a phone call from Thorin:

“ _We’re coming over earlier than planned._ ”

“What?!”

“ _My sister insisted that we help make dinner._ ”

“I can make it myself just _fine_.”

“ _I know that. Bofur and Nori know that. Dis, on the other hand, does not and she thinks it’d be rude not to help even though I told her you’d probably rather we not show up early…she doesn’t like to listen to me. We’ll be there around three. I’m so sorry, Hon._ ”

After that, I chose recipes, wrote down what I needed, and raced for the grocery store making it home just before Thorin’s family arrived. I texted my roommates, letting them know what was going on.

Received two rather annoyed messages in reply.

_They sound spoiled. Are they spoiled? Its rude to show up earlier than planned. At least your boyfriend told you before everything went caput-Nori_

They do sound a bit spoiled. I wonder how Thorin could be so different from them. Must be because he’s a priest and his siblings were raised with a silver spoon they decided to keep. It is _very_ rude of his sister, and I am _very_ glad Thorin told me.

_But I’m covered in concrete dust!! It’s a little embarrassing getting home and not having time to shower before dinner-Bofur_

I’m sure Bofur will find a way around that.

Other than my shared annoyance, I don’t have the time to worry about it. I have to clean the apartment before they show.

At three, three loud raps against the door alert me to their presence. I open the door, and smirk at them. Dis blinks and returns it, before glancing at Thorin.

“You warned him.”

“It was necessary,” Thorin said, glaring at her. She sauntered into the room and he mouthed another apology. Bilbo kissed him instead.

“Not your fault,” he whispered. “Where are the boys?”

“Our brother’s getting them,” he said, “Which means they won’t be here for another few hours with Frerin and Víli.

I’m not sure how I’m supposed to handle Thorin’s sister. She seems…scary.

Like a witch.

Black hair, straight nose, clear blue eyes. She looks a lot like Thorin, _but_ there’s a certain impatience glimmering in the back of her eyes.

So maybe not a witch, but a queen still stuck in the princess role?

Yeah. That describes her perfectly.

“Would you like something to drink?” I ask. She turned to stare at me through heavy lidded eyes.

“Have you Chianti? Or will I have to settle for beer?”

“ _Dis_ ,” Thorin hissed. My temple ticks.

“It’s in the kitchen. Wine rack. Help yourself.” Thorin stares at me, then at his sister. Dis stands, smirking at Thorin.

“I like him.” She went into the kitchen.

“I am so sorry,” he mumbled.

“I get the feeling you’ll be saying that a lot, right?” I kiss his cheek. “You don’t have to. It’s on her. Not you, Babe.”

He sighed. “Only daughter and granddaughter, and the youngest…yeah, she grew up…privileged, I guess would be the _kind_ way of putting it. She can be rather fierce when it suits her.”

“Well, I’ll just not let her bully me.”

“I’m not bullying anyone,” Dis snapped. Handing a glass to me. “I just needed to make sure you could handle our family. So far, you’re doing admirably and my sons like you well enough.”

“Where’s my glass?” Thorin asked.

“Thorin you have two hands. You can get your own wine,” she said, patting his shoulder.

“I’m not leaving you and your claws near Bilbo,” he growled.

Dis rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so overdramatic, Thor. I clipped them before we left.”

“I don’t believe you,” he growled, wrapping his arms around my middle. Dis pouted.

“Well at least the two of you are cute. Bilbo,” she turned to me, grin widening. I’m a little scared, admittedly. “When did you and Thorin meet?”

“Officially or not officially?” I ask. “You’ll have to clarify.

“Twice? Hm…”

“Dwalin’s funeral was the first time,” Thorin said. “Then again six months later.”

“Started dating then?”

“Two months after,” I reply.

“You knew Dwalin?”

Somebody save me from inquisitive sisters!

#

All in all, it wasn’t a complete disaster. Thorin and his brothers Frerin and Víli were laughing with Nori and Bofur. The boys were racing each other on the Play Station.

Dis was helping me in the kitchen. _Actually_ helping. I half thought it was just a front, but the woman actually does cook.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” she said after a few moments of silence. “Kili found out about Social Services poking around along with the IRS.” She sighed. “It’s been a very stressful couple days. It doesn’t help that this isn’t the first time the IRS has been knocking on our grandfather’s doors. First for Social Services though.”

“I doubt they can take the boys away because their great-grandfather’s…uh…”

“I’m sure Thorin told you a few horror stories. It’s okay. Thrain’s screws are definitely loose. Getting him to retire might take a little more time than we want. He’s a stubborn old goat, but what can we do? He’s still our grandfather.”

I shrug, “I’m sure things will clear up. He was probably just scared of the idea of being separated from you and Víli. He’s only ten, so of course he’d be scared by something like this. Either way, I doubt their reasons for being there are actually legal. They can’t take the boys because of their great-grandfather if he’s not the legal guardian, which, I’m sure, he’s not. It’s an annoyance, but they can’t do anything.”

“I hope that is true,” Dis said. “Still it doesn’t excuse my treatment of you last night.”

“What treatment? Glaring at me like you wanted nothing more than to kill me? Trust me, I’ve endured worse for less. Your ‘treatment’ earlier today, on the other hand…”

I inhale deeply and release the breath through my nose.

“So, you already knew Thorin was gay?” I say instead. Ranting at her rudeness would not get me anywhere.

Dis snorted. “Frerin and I have known he was gay our whole lives. Him _and_ Dwalin. We were actually a little sad when Thorin announced he wanted to be a priest. We wanted to have Dwalin as a brother-in-law. To us, he all but legally was. Neither of those idiots noticed until high school, of course, but by then…” She waved her hand. “Well, we knew and at the time we were too young to understand why it was supposedly wrong since Thorin didn’t seem to notice nor did we care. If our parents know, they don’t bring it up and they probably condoned his decision to join the clergy.”

I don’t respond. More I don’t really know how.

“We heard he passed, but Thorin didn’t tell us much else. You were his partner before you met Thorin?”

I nod.

_Why does Dwalin seem to haunt me?_

I wonder if I’m going to be able to forget waking up the morning a couple days before his funeral sick, disoriented… _raped_ if you were to listen to Nori and Bofur. But I simply don’t remember it that way. True, I wasn’t really able to consent…but…

While I’ll always love Dwalin, I just want to move on with my life. I don’t want to forget him, but I wish that people would stop asking me what happened.

I close my eyes, sighing. _I shouldn’t be selfish. They knew and loved him too._

I look at the living room where Thorin, his brothers, and my roommates talked and laughed over the trill of _Mortal Kombat III_.

_Maybe just as much._

Dis checks on the beef tenderloin before setting the table where the salad—the only thing actually _ready_ for consumption other than beverages—stood in a bowl with salad tongs within it. “Set” may actually be too…inaccurate a description. The table was too small, so we were going to squeeze on the couch, recliner, and the chairs situated in the living room and have our plates on our laps.

The table, for now, served the same purpose it did at the engagement party: a buffet stand. The green beans are ready, so I add them to the table before concentrating on the roast potatoes.

“Is the beef ready?” I ask. Dis sets down the forks and looks again. “Might still be rare. Medium rare at best,” she said. I frown, glancing at the others again.

“I prefer it to be well done but still juicy.”

“As would I,” She agreed, straightening. “A few more minutes and then we’ll call the gang in?”

“Sure.” We leave the kitchen, joining the others. Thorin shakes his head, pinching the bride of his nose.

“You love annoying me,” he muttered.

His brother patted his back. “It’d not be the same if I wasn’t. Ah!” he grinned at me. “Food ready yet?”

“Not quite,” Dis said. “But almost. The roast needs a few more minutes.”

“Woman, we’re hungry!” Frerin snapped, earning a flick to his ear. Thorin smirked, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. Frerin rubbed the offended ear. “That was uncalled for, Dis.”

“It’s always called for,” Dis retorted, snorting. All but Víli and I nod. The glory of being an only child. Half of the way they interact makes me want to wince and the other half makes me laugh.

“Did Bilbo get interrogated yet?”

“Yes,” I said. “I’d rather not repeat it, thank you.”

“Damn it, Dis! We agreed we’d do it together!”

Thorin shook his head. “I will punch you.”

“Temper—ow!” Frerin rubbed his arm, pouting at Thorin, who smirked. Fili and Kili giggle from the couch, earning a glare from their uncle. “Oh, _sure_ ,” he snarled. “Laugh, why don’t you?”

I glance at Thorin. He nods. “This is normal,” he assures me.

“Okay. Should I be scared?”

“Yes,” Víli and Frerin say. Thorin rolls his eyes.

“You only need to fear Dis.” Frerin glares at him. “Frerin’s a push over at best. And if he doesn’t behave, let me know.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Don’t agree with him! You have the right to disagree, you know!”

I arch a brow. “I know. But he knows you better than I do,” I nudge Thorin’s side with my elbow, “and I trust him, so…” I shrug. “I think you’re just outnumbered here.”

Frerin sighs. “Story of my life. Dis. Do _not_ have more children. Kili will suffer.”

Dis threw her head back and laughed. “Perhaps, but if recall _someone_ said that having siblings was character building.” She and Frerin glanced at Thorin. “Any thoughts, Thor?”

“Yeah. It’s character building.”

“I guess we’ll have to talk to our parents then, Bilbo,” Víli said. “Someone didn’t tell them.”

“Maybe, but I think I got all my character building living with these two knuckleheads.” Bofur and Nori grinned. I sigh. “Yeah.”

“We love you, Bo,” Nori said. I glare at him.

“Since, Dis got to interrogate you, I claim giving the shovel talk.”

“No!” Thorin said.

“You’ll go first then,” Nori said. “I’m a nurse and a lot of people die in hospitals.” How he can say that and still seem so calm…probably should scare me.

“Ooh, he’s good,” Frerin said. “Bilbo I know people. ‘Nuff said.”

“Should I be scared of whom these people are?”

“Yes.”

Well that’s comforting. “I’m going to check the roast,” I decide, heading back to the kitchen.

I open the oven, choked by a wave of smoke. Yep. It’s done. Maybe a little too well done. I turn it off and grab oven mitts before rescuing the beef tenderloin, placing it on the stove. I glare at the roast, as though it is _its_ fault for overcooking. I set the mitts on the table and turn around.

Kili is sitting on the floor beside the wall, knees pulled to his chin. Why is he there? When did he move from the living room?

“Kili?”

He doesn’t look up. I glance at the others still in the living room—they’re still talking. Currently, it sounds like they’re mocking each other’s jobs. Or their own. Nori is telling a story from work. I sit beside him.

“What’s up?” I ask. “Hungry?” He shook his head. “What’s wrong?”

Kili hugs his legs tighter. “Fili and I are going into foster care.”

“What? No. No, Kili, you’re mom and dad won’t let that happen.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “It’s the government. They can do whatever they want.”

“No, Kili, they can’t. Whatever is going on at home right now, your parents are _not_ going to lose you or Fili. The government can only get involved with something like that if there is…” _would irrefutable be too big a word? Probably._ “Clear proof that your parents have hurt you in some way or are incapable of taking care of you. Whatever is going on at home, it has _nothing_ to do with what has been going on at home. Social Services has no place there right now.”

Kili bites his lip, leaning against my arm, I wrap my arm around him. “It’s going to be okay, Kili.” I have to get his mind off of that, even if just for a little bit. “Do you like superheroes?” He sniffs. “Who’s your favorite superhero? Mine’s Tony Stark. I used to love reading _Iron Man_ comics when I was a kid. Kind of liked the movie…”

Kili sniffs again. “Oliver Queen,” he replied. “I got started on _Arrow_ last year.”

“Doesn’t he kill people?”

“Only when necessary.”

“That’s more _anti-hero_ though. What, you don’t think Hawkeye’s cool?”

“He’s okay,” Kili said. “But I prefer Arrow.”

I shrug. “Each to their own, I guess. You’re right about one thing though: heroes do what they need to. The person hurting your family will be stopped.”

“How do you know?”

I glance at the others. “Because your uncle Thorin’s actually a superhero in disguise and the guy who has gone after your family is his arch-nemesis.” Kili snorted, rolling his eyes. “Think I’m kidding? What better cover than a priest? Right?”

“I think I know Thorin better than _that_?”

“How do you know? Ask him. I dare you. After dinner though.” I stand. “The beef should be tender and hopefully still juicy. Want first taste?” He nods, getting onto his feet and wiping his eyes.

#

“You told Kili I was a superhero?” Thorin asks. Fili and Kili walk ahead of us between their parents. Sirens screamed past us as we ventured further from Cold Stones to home. (Frerin had gone home early, getting called into the office.)

“Well, he already looks up to you so much,” I say, shrugging, “So why not? You know who’s behind what’s been going on for a few years and you know he’s targeted your family.”

Thorin rolls his eyes, stabbing his ice cream with a spoon. “Thanks for talking to him. He knows you were joking about the hero thing.”

“Course he does. Kid’s smart. The funny ones usually are and he is one funny kid,” I said, swiping ice cream off my own spoon with a tongue. “He was upset, Thorin. What was I _supposed_ to do? More often than not, kids don’t _really_ want to confide in family. So I lent an ear. As a side note, I’m a little scared of what would happen if he got his hands on a bow and arrow.”

Thorin coughed. “So am I.” He took a bite of ice cream. “Who _is_ your favorite superhero, if I may ask?”

“Iron Man.” He laughs. “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

My smile fades. “No. _No_.”

“Yeah.”

“Captain America?!”

“Yeah.”

“We need to talk about this. This cannot continue. No. No—ow!” I rub my arm where Thorin punched me. “What was that for?!”

“That did not hurt.”

“Yes it did!” I snap, trying to sound indignant through my grin. “It fucking hurt.”

“Fine, I’m sorry.” I loop my arm around his. “Thank you. For talking to him. Kili really looks up to you.”

“No idea why,” I sigh. “He’s a good kid though. When he’s not running around New York City alone at night.”

“Yeah. Last night usually never happens.”

“He’s scared. That’s all. From what I can tell, your whole family is scared.”

Thorin shook his head. “There isn’t anything I can do about it.”

“You know who it is.”

“All the evidence I have is still circumstantial. I don’t have the means or the power to go up against Smaug.”

I lay my head on his, shoulder, stirring my vanilla-chocolate sprinkle-sour gummy bear-strawberry syrup ice cream. “Prayer won’t always get you the results you need to see. Maybe when that happens it’s a sign that you need to find a way to handle it yourself. You _do_ have the means. You just don’t use them.”

“Benefits of being the son of a one-percenter.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.” I shake my head. “I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.” I scoop out some of my ice cream. “Want a bite?”

Thorin leaned down, taking my offering. “It’s good. Surprisingly.”

“ _Surprisingly_ , he says!” I scoff. “Sir, I am a culinary genius! I should enroll into cooking classes and work at a restaurant!”

“You don’t _need_ cooking classes!”

“I need some cred in order to…wait. I could just team up with Bombur. That would be scary because I already have to deal with Bofur, but I could do it.”

“Why don’t you then? Why haven’t you joined forces with Bombur already? I tried his cooking. The two of you working together would be _unstoppable._ ”

“Because I love writing. Cooking’s really been just a hobby of mine.”

“You can do both!”

“I _do_ do both. But the dynamics of what’s more important would shift. True, cooking would enable me to have a steadier living situation, but I _love_ writing and making money off my writing.”

“And you really think it’s not possible to do both?” Thorin asked. “Especially since you already _are_ making money off your writing from your blog?”

I hum. “I never really thought about it that way,” I admit. We toss our ice cream cups into a trash bin. “But that would make sense. I just have to remember to keep _writing_ for my blog.”

We arrive at my apartment. The boys were tugging on their parents’ arms. “…Can’t we? Please? It’s Friday—”

“What’s going on?” Thorin asked.

Dis turned to us. “They are trying to escape going to bed by demanding a movie.” Fili and Kili grin at me. I blink and click my tongue.

“Ask your mother.”

“Why?!” they whine.

“Because she’s scary. That’s why. I have the feeling I should be more scared of her than I should be of those people Frerin supposedly knows.”

Dis grins. “Okay, you two,” she said, pulling Fili and Kili close. “It’s time to go home and go to bed.”

“But _Mom_.”

“Say thanks to Bilbo,” she reminds them. I half-wish she didn’t when they nearly knock me off my feet and onto the concrete, repeated choruses of “thank you” rang in my ear.

“You’re welcome,” I said. “We good? Good. Can you let me go now?” They release me, grinning. With a final wave, they leave. “Well, you got lucky.”

Thorin follows me inside. “What do you mean?”

“Coming out situations rarely ever go that smoothly,” I remind him, walking up the stairs backwards. “It could have gone _much_ worse.”

“And probably would have if my parents and grandparents were here.”

“I can’t fit that many people in my apartment. We can try, but I’m afraid my floor would give out.”

“I’m rather glad you can’t fit that many,” Thorin said, catching me and wrapping his arms around my waist. “I would _hate_ to think how the… _older generations_ would think.”

“Oh God, no need: they grew up in a severely homophobic era. I was lucky to have my mom and her family when I did. They’re considered nutty. I pray—quite literally—that you never meet my grandparents solely because they will embarrass us both. Last time I saw them they wanted to know if I was in a _triad_ with Bofur and Nori.”

Thorin shook his head, wincing. “That’s a bit much for me.”

“You get my point. Thankfully for you, I’m monogamous.” I kiss him. “How does it feel to be open?”

“Liberating,” he growled against my lips before taking another kiss. _Fuck, that was sexy_ , I think as my spine tingles. “Can I stay the night?”

“Want to help me clean up a little more? Nori and Bofur aren’t exactly the cleanest bunch.”

“Among _other_ things.”

I pull away, stepping up. “What sort of _other things_ do you have in mind?”

“I’ll tell you later.”

“Ugh! You’re no fun!” I grab his hand, pulling him up. “Come on. The apartment won’t clean itself.” Our feet stamp against the stairs, echoing off the walls until we reach my floor and my apartment.

Thorin locks me in his embrace as I fumble with the keys, kissing my neck and rocking his hips against my backside.

“Damn it, Man, don’t distract me until we’re in the bedroom.” The door opens and I almost manage to escape his arms on entering.

“More reason to get to the bedroom,” he whispers, pulling me back and pushing me backwards. My legs collide with the couch and we fall down.

“Not here. Or does the time I caught them…”

“Haven’t forgotten. We could repay the favor.”

“Oh my God, what have I done to you?” I laugh. “I’m a horrible person: I corrupted a priest.”

“The priest does not mind.”

“Not fair,” I growl, nipping his bottom lip with my teeth. “What gives you the right to be so sexy? Or this horny? Not that I mind…”

Thorin gets off me, pulling me up. “Apartment clean enough for you?”

I look around and shrug. “Tomorrow’s Saturday and it’s not like I’ve anywhere to be.”

“Good.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry I meant to get this up yesterday, but unstoppable forces decided to work against me. There is also a bit of smut here. Again, if you are uncomfortable with this, skip to the first #, then there’s another which will begin after the (*) and end with the (**).

_“Not fair,” I growl, nipping his bottom lip with my teeth. “What gives you the right to be so sexy? Or this horny? Not that I mind…”_

_Thorin gets off me, pulling me up. “Apartment clean enough for you?”_

_I look around and shrug. “Tomorrow’s Saturday and it’s not like I’ve anywhere to be.”_

_“Good.”_

He led me into my room and I locked the door before facing him again, wrapping my arms around his neck and planting a kiss on his lips.

I backed him into the bed and down onto the mattress, straddling his hips. I stand on my knees, pulling my shirt off. Thorin unzipped my jeans, pulling them down my hips.

I lean down to kiss him and let him roll me over. I grab his shirt, pushing it up.

He helps me pulling his head and arms out of the collar and sleeves. I drop the shirt, running my hands over his chest. He leans down, nipping at my neck.

My breathing grows labored and aroused.

His hand slides under my boxers, fingers curling around my cock and slides up to the head. The pad of his thumb circles the slit then slides back down, and repeats. This and the attack to my neck…

 _Fuck_ …

Thorin moves down, releasing my cock only long enough to yank my boxers down with my jeans. I sit up, propped on my hands. His eyes hold a feral glint which sends a jolt up my spine. He pulls my legs over his shoulders and takes my cock in his hand again and licks the tip. I bite my lip and my hips almost jerk upward involuntarily. Thorin wraps his lips around the head and moves down.

“When did you get so confident?” I ask, willing to keep my hips still and run a hand through his hair. He moves up and releases me.

“Been dreaming of you, thinking…is it…”

“It’s okay. You’re doing very well.”

He preens under my praise and swallows me down again, sucking in.

I fall back onto the bed, pulling at the sheets around me.

He stops sucking and in that moment, I lose restraint, thrusting into his mouth. He grunts and grabs my hips. I force myself to still and he begins sucking again.

“Thorin, I’ll come too soon if you keep this up…”

He sucks harder and I whine, trying to thrust again. He moves his mouth up to the head, pressing the tip of his tongue against the slit. Probably tastes my pre-come…

I spill into his mouth, and feel the muscles of his mouth swallow my seed down.

He moves over me, my legs sliding off his shoulders.

“Turn over,” he whispers in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

I obey as he searches for lube and condoms. I aid him, handing him what he wants. I wait, laying my head on my forearms. He fits one finger inside me. I think it’s his pinky given how small it is.

“I dream of you,” he whispers, unzipping his pants, “Way too much. I’ve never _indulged_ so much or thought of another as often as I do you. A part of me worries that I lust for you too much, but then I remember that I have you with me and I am overcome. I want to _fuck_ you.”

I moan and rock against his hand. The amount of fingers he has within me increases.

“I dream of _wrecking_ you, impaling you with my cock, making you come in my hand or my mouth.”

_Fuck, fuck, fuck!_

“And of being wrecked by you since the day you did _just that_. I had _never_ felt like this before and _you_ make me feel on fire in ways I’ve _never_ felt on fire before.” He pulls his fingers out. I hear the condom rip open, feel one hand on my hip pulling me back into him…

I feel the stretch of his cock pushing into me slowly, the other hand grabbing my other hip.

He rolls his hips against mine, slowly at first. Then picks up pace, leaning on top of me. One hand moves to my flaccid cock and the other grabs one of my hands, fingers fitting between mine.

My cock twitches in his grip as we move.

The headboard bangs against the wall and we pause at the rustling from the other room, Nori and Bofur exclaiming at the noise.

I can feel Thorin’s grin against my shoulder and he moves faster, headboard ramming into the wall repeatedly. A part of me is slightly excited by it and my cock makes a valid attempt at getting hard again. Another part is a bit horrified. A third is smug.

Thorin pauses, biting my shoulder as his climax is reached. I tense around him, earning a moan for it.

“Fuck…” I whisper. Thorin chuckles, kissing my shoulder.

“ _Think they’re done?_ ” Bofur shouts.

Thorin groans and I burst into laughter, muffled in my pillow.

“What have we done?”

“Gotten revenge,” I say. “Or worse: started a war.”

Thorin pulls out of me, pulling the condom off and reaches over me for the bin. He collapses beside me. I kiss him and rest my chin on top of his.

#

“The two of you are assholes,” Nori growled the following morning as he fetched a cup of coffee.

I smirk. “Revenge is best served hot,” I reply, drinking my coffee.

Thorin was pointedly keeping his face away from their line of vision and staring at his plate as he nibbled on toast, cheeks bright red. I think he’s wondering what the hell got into him last night. I happen to like whatever it was.

Nori paused. “Are Bofur and I…?”

“Yep. The walls are just too thin here.”

“Oh my God,” he muttered. “Why the hell didn’t you say anything?!”

“Because, unlike a certain couple I can name, I don’t thrive on awkward situations even if I create them once in a while.”

Nori shook his head. “It’s too early for this shit.” He poured coffee into as second mug. “And it means war, Baggins.”

I snort. “Bring it on, Rison.”

Thorin shrunk in his seat. “Aw, he’s so cute,” Nori cooed. I glare at Nori, mentally willing him to leave. He does, carrying the other mug into the room.

“I’m sorry about him,” I sigh.

Thorin sets his toast down. “I’m more worried about what he’s about to do.”

I shrug. “Whatever Nori throws my way, I can handle it. I wouldn’t be living with those two if I didn’t think I could. Do you want to talk to my Dad today?”

“Er…” Thorin blinks. Does he not remember telling me he was thinking of leaving the priesthood?

“It can wait. It’s entirely up to you.”

“Actually it’d be good if I talk to him sooner than later,” Thorin said, drinking orange juice. “Maybe later today?”

“Sure. This afternoon then?” Thorin nods. I lean on the table. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yeah, just…wondering what will happen when the _rest_ of my family finds out. My siblings were one thing. But my parents…”

“Hey,” I take his hand in mine. “When the time comes, I’ll be there for you.” I stand and kiss him. “Okay?” He nods, pressing his forehead to mine. I cup his cheek. “I love you, Thorin.”

“And I love you.”

We escape the apartment before Nori and Bofur can enact their vengeance on us to get some iced coffee.

Today decided to be sunny. I don’t mind the warmth. I do mind the brightness that makes me wince and sneeze—yes. _Sneeze_. Don’t ask how.

Thorin thought it was funny, smiling around his straw as I groaned at not having a pair of sunglasses available. A common problem when living somewhere used to seeing rain clouds rather than blue sky.

“So you _do_ have a partner.”

We turn around. Thorin tenses beside me and Smaug’s smirk widened.

I grip Thorin’s hand in mine to keep him from attacking. Not that I’d think he would, but…he seems ready to attack at the slightest provocation.

“Durin,” Smaug greets.

“Smaug.”

“Didn’t you join the priesthood?” Smaug asks, tilting his head to the side. He glances at me, then at Thorin, clicking his tongue. “Quite the _offense_ , isn’t it? Not that I blame you. This one is cute.” He grins nastily at me.

I grit my teeth and pull Thorin along.

“Ignore him,” I said. Thorin pulled out of my grasp. “Thorin!”

“I know you went after my family.”

Smaug laughs and approaches. He pats Thorin’s shoulder.

“After all this time, why would…ah. He told you he saw me with your grandfather. You know it was only a matter of time…”

“Why get Social Services involved?” I ask. “They won’t find anything incriminating the Durin family in the way Fili and Kili are treated.”

He turned to me and shrugged. “For fun.”

Thorin seized Smaug’s wrist and twisted it, shoving him against a wall and raising his fist. He landed one punch before I grabbed his arm.

“Thorin!” I shout, pulling him off Smaug and into the gathering crowd. “Thorin, come on,” I say, pushing him down the street. “Ignore him. Come on. Let’s go have lunch, okay?” I say quietly. “Then we can go home and call my dad. Don’t let Smaug get the upper hand today. Okay? Can you do that for me, Hon?”

He sighs, breathing shakily, and nods, leaning against me slightly. “He knew you.”

Fuck. I didn’t want to bring this up unless I needed to. I sigh and grip his hand tighter.

“After I got the news of Dwalin’s death I was…honestly, I don’t remember much about that night. I was upset and had gone drinking. He promised to come home and he didn’t and my life wasn’t as…put together as it is now. I don’t remember much. What I do remember is waking up, sick, bruised, and bleeding. Nori and Bofur tried to look for whoever had…hurt me, but we never found him. I said I didn’t care if we did, but I think I was actually afraid of what would happen if we did. In Albany, when I was visiting Dad, the night we went to dinner…”

“He told you it was him?” Thorin asked. I nod. “Why didn’t you tell anyone about this?”

“Worse things have happened, Thorin. I can’t let them get to me and I certainly don’t want to think about them. Besides, it’s been almost a year since then and I really don’t remember it. Even if I did, I don’t want it to rule my life.”

“It might not have been him then?”

I shook my head. “Only Bofur, Nori, and his brother Dori know about that…night. If it wasn’t… _him_ …he wouldn’t have known.”

Thorin pulls his hand out of mine and drapes his arm around my shoulders.

My breathing is shaky and I lay my head on his shoulder. “I’m okay.”

“You sure?”

I nod. I have to be.

#

We return to the apartment without any more incidents or confrontations, and I call Dad on Skype in the living room.

_“Hello?”_

“Dad,” I greet. “How are you?”

_“Good, Bilbo. You?”_

“Yes, I’m good.” I bite my lip, unsure how to broach the subject of Thorin’s decision to switch denominations with him. In the end I didn’t have to.

_“So why are you calling? Not that I mind. It’s good to hear from you, Bilbo.”_

“Well, my partner’s…” I turn to Thorin, unsure how to phrase this. Thorin leans forward.

“Mr. Baggins,” he begins.

_“Yes?”_

“My name is Thorin Durin. I’m a priest at St. Patrick’s Cathedral,” he glances at me. “And I am in love with your son.”

I’m blushing.

Why am I blushing?

No one but Thorin is here to see me blush and he said nothing that should be making be blush.

But I’m blushing.

 _“Wait. Bilbo, you’re dating a_ priest _?”_

“Yes. That’s sort of why we called,” I admit.

 _“Huh. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react to this…”_ Dad admits.

“I’m actually thinking of resigning from the priesthood, but I’m still interested in working with the church. Just not the Catholic Church. Bilbo said you might know a place that could…accept us and might need a new…pastor?”

I nod.

“Yeah.”

Silence. _“How are you with teenagers?”_

“What?”

_“The youth pastor at my own church is moving to Miami in a couple months from now.”_

Oh yeah. I forgot about that…and Thorin did mention he was a youth pastor…Why would my brain decide to forget that?

“I actually _do_ lead the youth group at St. Patrick’s. So, yeah, I know my way around teenagers.”

_“Good! I know that tomorrow won’t work for either of us, but maybe next Friday we can meet in person and talk a bit more with Will. Does that work for you?”_

Thorin looks at me, speechless.

“Yes,” I say for him, “It works. Thanks Dad. We’ll see you then.”

_“All right. Take care, Bilbo.”_

“You too, Dad. Bye.”

_“Good bye and God bless.”_

The call ended. “You okay?”

“That went insanely better than I thought it would. You didn’t mention that your dad was looking for a new youth pastor.”

“I admit I did not. I’m not exactly affected by the fact that his church’s youth pastor is moving. And I would have mentioned it earlier…My dad actually likes you. That scares me a little.”

“Why would it?”

“He never liked anyone else I introduced to him in the past. He was actually civil today unlike the other times. He likes you. That scares me.”

Thorin pulls me into his lap, smirking. “Maybe it’s because you’ve never dated a priest before.”

I nod. “That might be it.”

“Do you regret it?”

“No. I like you enough and your sexy and funny and—” He kissed me. I grin against his lips. “You’ve gotten unfairly good at kissing.” Thorin laughs and kisses me again.

“It’s been a good weekend so far.”

“What about tomorrow?” I ask. “It’s getting late—”

“I’ll get up early,” he said. “Right now, I want to be with you.” (*)

He gripped my thighs and stood.

I wrap my arms around his neck and he carries me to my room. A part of me wants to give him a hard time for daring to carry me. The other part wants to just forget about that and let him do what he wants.

We lay on the bed, disrobing each other, our hands roaming over each other’s torsos, breaking the kiss only to catch breath.

“You want to be on top?” I ask between nips.

“Do you?” He pinches a nipple, making me groan, and, at the risk of sounding straight out of a porno, I growled:

“Take me. Want you. I want to feel you.”

Thorin grinned against my mouth and moved down my chest, licking the same nipple he had pinched earlier, rolling the bead between his teeth. He switched to the other nipple, lathing it with the same attention.

I closed my eyes and relaxed, enjoying his touch. He moved away from my chest, trailing kisses down to my navel. I clutch at the sheets beneath me when his tongue dipped into the small dent.

He moved to the V of my waist, kissing the line where my leg met my hip.

I whine as he continues to ignore my cock and kisses down my leg instead.

He presses his lips against my heel, the arch of my foot, digging his fingers into the sole.

I gasp, twisting my head to the right and panting.

Fuck, how can a fucking _foot massage_ go straight to my cock?! How did I never find out that a foot massage could do this to me?!

And he hasn’t even touched me yet. Not in the way I want.

Thorin moved to my other foot, digging his thumbs into the balls of my feet, kissing the pads of my toes. He moved to the arch, then my heel, kissing and massaging his way back up my leg. His hair brushed against my cock and I gasped.

“Interesting,” he said.

I open my eyes and prop up on my elbows. “I just discovered I might have a foot fetish, or you do, and all you can say to that is _interesting_?”

“Well it is,” he said, grinning. “Hand me the lube.”

I do so, also grabbing condoms for him and for myself. Better to have it ready than bother reaching for them later.

“Thanks.”

I lie back down, spreading my legs a little wider and await his fingers.

“That was easier than usual,” he said, sliding one in. I laugh.

“I won’t regain the same tightness I had when we began last night, Babe. Prep should be a little faster than it usually would take.” He slips in a second finger. “Not too fast though.”

“Right.”

I smile…and hiss in a breath when his fingers brush against my cock unintentionally. “God, Thorin, _please_.”

“I think there’s a saying about patience and virtue, but—”

“I am still coherent and far from satisfied. I don’t give two fucks about _proverbs_ right now, Thorin.”

A third finger slid inside. Thorin kissed my abdomen just below my navel and above the tip of my cock.

Fuck, if he just aimed a little lower…he did that on purpose. I’m sure of—

“ _Oh! Fuck! Yes! There…_ ”

I roll my hips against his hand.

Thorin pulls away, ripping his condom open and sliding it on his cock.

I mime him, tugging the plastic over my length, spreading pre-come over it.

Thorin coats his cock in lube and lines the head with my entrance, easing inside me.

I move my hands from gripping my sheets to digging into his shoulders as he rocked his hips against mine.

He locked our lips together again and I bit his lip between my teeth, panting as my cock is rubbed between our abdomens.

My legs wrap around his waist, locked at the ankles, and pulling him closer.

“ _Faster, Thorin_ ,” I whisper against his mouth. “ _Harder. Please_.”

He complies and the bed shakes, headboard slamming against the wall (again).

He reaches between us, gripping my cock.

I dig my nails into his shoulders, urging him on with exclamations of _yes, please, more_.

My back arches, my nails scratch at his skin, and I scream silently through my release, intensified by his own.

Thorin shudders on top of me, forehead pressed to mine, our breath and sweat mingling. (**)

I lessen my grip on his shoulders, letting my hands drop to rest on either side of my head. He pulls out, sending shivers down my spine. Thorin groans, falling to lie beside me.

“If I decide to take your father’s offer, would you move there too?”

I blink. “Tell me you weren’t thinking about _that—_ ”

“I wasn’t. It just…hit me that I’d have to move to Albany if I take the job there.” I turn on my side with some effort to face him. “Albany’s far.”

I chuckle. “Not _impossibly_ far, though. We’ll manage. If I could manage a few months apart from Dwalin when he was in Afghanistan, I can manage the two or three hour distance between New York and there until I can get a reasonably priced place elsewhere. I have _no_ intention of moving back in with my father. No thanks. We’ll worry about it when we’re _not_ about to fall asleep. How’s that?”

He sighed, pulling me closer.

And reminding me we have condoms to dispose of. I pull them off us and turn over to my other side to toss them in the bin.

Now, I can sleep.

#

I wake early enough to see him getting ready to leave.

I prop on my elbow, laying my head on my hand and smirking at him. He catches me staring and kneels down, kissing me.

“Morning,” I mumble against his lips.

“Good morning. I’m afraid I have to go. I’ll call after church.”

“Looking forward to it.”

He kisses me again and leaves. I lay back down, staring at my door, with a smile on my face. I turn onto my back, eyes closed and sighing.

_Albany is not as far as Afghanistan. I can visit him. He can visit me. Fuck, I’m already melancholy and he hasn’t even agreed to take Dad’s offer up yet!_

_And then there’s the thing with Smaug…_

I sigh again, deciding to get up and take a shower, clean my room a bit…

And call Mom. If anyone has advice for me and what I feel right now, it’s her.


	19. Chapter 19

“ _Well of course you fell melancholy, Bilbo_ ,” Mom said, “ _You’re with a good man right now, even if your relationship hasn’t been very long, and he’s thinking about switching jobs! Which, by the way, I support. I would hate to see you get hurt if it got out to the public that you’re dating a priest. But anyway, back to how you feel about this: if you don’t want him to go, tell him. Talk to him about it.”_

“I would,” I said, crossing my legs and staring at the computer screen. “But I don’t know what to say to him. Especially since I helped him get the interview…sort of. He’s at church right now.”

“ _Well, I’m sure you remember that two o’clock is usually the safest time to call someone who has church in the morning. Are you meeting up after_?”

“He’s calling.”

“ _Even better. Just talk about it. The words you’re looking for will come. They always come when it’s you, Bilbo. You love him, and he loves you. There isn’t much else I can say. How are Nori and Bofur by the way_?” I tell her about their engagement, and promise that I’ll send the wedding invitation.

We exchange adieus and she hangs up. I end the call and place my phone beside my laptop.

Talk to him? I did and I said it was fine and it is. Really, it is. I can handle a two hour commute versus the several hundred miles apart. I don’t need to tell him I’m not okay with him moving to Albany when I _am_ okay with it. Mom isn’t really getting that I even if I’m okay with it, I don’t know if I’m ready for it.

Hell, I’m not really sure I’m ready to be this deeply in love with someone again. Not after Dwalin. Not after how terrified I am of losing someone to death again.

I’m _melancholy_ about a two hour difference!

It’s stupid and ridiculous and…

And I want to wake up with Thorin beside me. I want to be in the same place he is and hear his voice. I want to be close enough to touch him, kiss his lips, and play with his hair. I want to be able to see him and get lost staring into his beautiful eyes.

 _Fuck_. I lean back in my chair, closing my eyes and leaning forward to lean against my desk. _When did I fall so hard for him?_

#

When two o’clock came around and Thorin still had not called, I picked up the phone and startled to dial his cell—then someone knocked on the door and I went to answer, phone in hand.

Thorin stood outside.

“I thought church didn’t get out until about one,” I said, stepping aside for him to come in.

“It doesn’t. The Bishop showed.”

“That doesn’t sound good,” I said closing the door. “Is it _ever_ good?”

“For me? Not often. Though, lately…Bilbo, he doesn’t know about you and he doesn’t need to know in order to _not_ like me. We never saw eye to eye on a lot of things long before us. In a way, we’re both conservative, but I’m slightly less so. Today was actually about Smaug. Seems he decided to report me to him.”

“Now what?”

“Nothing’s changed. Except maybe a head start on that resignation letter…”

I embraced him and gave him a small kiss. “I’m sorry, Sweetie.”

“Mind proofreading it later?”

“Not at all.” I kiss him again. “Hungry? There’s some left over pasta salad or I can make you something fresh.” Thorin shook his head.

“I actually was dragged out of my office with a scowl on my face by Dis and forced to endure a pizza lunch with her and her boys.”

“That must have been fun,” I laugh, imagining what shenanigans Fili and Kili got into this time. “Well, I am going to have some pasta salad.”

Thorin sighed, untangling from me to sit on the couch so I can go into the kitchen. “Go ahead…and it depends on your definition of fun. Dis is already going nuts about having a brother-in-law—”

 _Brother-in-law?!_ I drop the plate, swearing when it shatters on the ground. “Shit!”

Thorin jumps up and comes into the kitchen. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I said, hands shaking as I pick up the shards.

“Where’s the broom?” I point at the cupboard and he fetches it. “Are you sure you’re fine?”

“I’m fine,” I say, “I just…” I look up at him, careful not to cut myself with the shards. “She actually said ‘brother-in-law’?”

“She did. I ended up choking on a bread stick when she brought it up. Dis likes you. Otherwise I doubt she’d have brought it up so soon after meeting you. I _did_ tell her it’s still to soon…though…Were you and Dwalin…before he left…” I shook my head.

“We weren’t engaged. Close to it, though. We were thinking about it. Talked about it a few times. But we agreed that it’d be better to wait until…until he came back to think about it seriously.”

He never did come back. Not alive.

We dumped the shards into the trash bin. My appetite is gone and I join him on the couch.

“I love you,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his middle and laying my head on his shoulder. “I really love you, Thorin, more than words can really say and…I’m not scared though a part of me thinks it should be.” His fingernails scratch me gently through the fabric of my shirt. “But we are _not_ talking about marriage for at least another eleven months.”

He chuckled. “Okay. About Friday.”

I look at him.

“Please come with me.”

“Why?”

“Even if your dad _does_ like me, it’s still…”

“Right. Fine. But you’re going to the interview on your own. I will be there to celebrate with you if you get it or comfort you if you don’t.”

“You’re confidence is overwhelming, my love.”

I laughed. “I have no doubt that you’ll get the job, Thorin. I think my dad’ll be impressed and all the old ladies there just as charmed as they are at your _current_ church now.” Thorin groaned, laying his head against the back of the couch and I laughed again, kissing his cheek. “You’re adorable.”

“No I’m not,” he countered, glaring at me.

“You are _very_ adorable.”

“Bilbo—”

I kiss him, deciding I’ve teased him enough. “How about we watch a movie? Or go to the theater?” I suggest. “I vote for the theater. If only to get out for a bit.”

“But your couch is comfortable.” I kiss him again. “And that doesn’t really motivate me to get _off_ the couch.”

“No, I suppose not,” I agreed, straddling his lap and wrapping my arms around his neck. “But it’s just as fun.”

#

Friday sneaks up on us.

We managed to catch a train to Albany and met Dad at the Church. I worked on a new essay for my blog while the interview was in progress at a coffee shop nearby.

(It is titled _The Novel Versus Myth and Legend: Literature Evolved through Time_. I packed three anthologies with me…I would have brought _five_ , but then I’d probably fall over from the weight of my back pack. And Thorin thought I was being ridiculous carrying that much on a weekend trip. He’s probably right. _Probably_.)

My fingers punch the faded keys on my keyboard.

I don’t notice anyone behind me until Thorin kisses my cheek.

“‘Storytelling has not vanished, but evolved with the time.’” He read. “‘What was once told around campfires in song and in rhymed meter is now printed on paper in prose. The first shift between rhymed meter to printed prose is Japanese novel, _the Tales of Genji_ …’ Really?”

“You’ve never read _Genji_ have you?”

“Can’t say I have.”

I snort. “Uncultured swine.” I hand him the first anthology. “Start reading. It’s on page—wait!” I save the document and turn around to face him. He is sitting on my bed. “How’d it go?”

He grinned at me and my eyes widened.

“Did you…”

“No, but the first part of the interview went well. They want me to lead the group tomorrow night before any final decisions are made.”

I grip the seat of my chair to keep from jumping at him. I’d rather Dad _not_ find us in an awkward position of any kind. “But this is good?”

“Very good. Now I need only to impress a bunch of teenagers. Should’ve brought the guitar.”

“Guitar?” I ask. “You play?”

“And sing.” I glare at him. “I never told you, didn’t I?”

“No. You did not,” I say, feigning indignity.

“I’m good enough to help lead the worship portion of the group,” he said, a blush creeping on his cheeks. “I play well enough, but not _that_ well. I don’t _write_ my own music or anything.”

I stand and head over to him, sitting beside him on my bed. “Do you know any secular songs?”

He swallowed, still blushing. “A couple rock songs,” he admits. “Ozzy’s _Crazy Train_ and AC DC’s _Hells Bells_.” I throw my head back and laugh, clutching my stomach and lying down. “ _And_ Styx’s _Renegade._ I swear that’s it. Besides a multitude of worship music. _Renegade_ is better with an electric guitar though…”

“Oh, the irony!” I laughed, “I’m sorry. I actually really like _Hells Bells_.”

“It’s a good song,” he said defensively. I sit up and kiss him.

“It is. It really is. They _all_ are good songs, though I’m not really a fan of Ozzy.”

“ _Crazy Train_ was the only thing that would put Kili to sleep when I babysat him and Fili.”

I laughed again. “My God, that explains so much about those two! Again, it’s not a bad song, it’s just-just not what I’d willingly listen to.”

“Are you okay?” Thorin asked. “You’re turning red and I’m afraid you’re going to burst a lung.”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “I’m fine. Tell me how you came to discover that _Crazy Train_ was a good lullaby for your nephews?” Thorin rolled his eyes.

“One night, it was playing on the radio when I was trying to help Kili settle so he could sleep and I start singing along with it because at _that_ point I was desperate and…yeah. I learned how to play it on the guitar a couple weeks later. Dis was annoyed by it and Kili _still_ hums it sometimes. Not that I think he knows it…”

“Probably not, but that’s adorable,” I say. “At least play _Hells Bells_ for me.”

He shook his head.

“Yes.”

“ _No_ ,” he snapped, glaring. It would be more menacing if I didn’t see a smile creeping up his face.

“ _Yes_. Please?”

“No—I’m a bit scared of what your dad’ll do if I dare.”

I scoff. “Wouldn’t be the first time he heard it.”

“ _Seriously_?”

“It wasn’t the worst song he heard under this roof. Trust me.”

“My God!”

“I know, I know. Fine, _Renegade._ It’s an easier song to sing too.” I pout. “Please?”

“No, _no_! Not the puppy eyes, anything but…” He sighed, defeated. “Fine. Fine.” I grin and kiss his cheek. “Let me find a guitar.” I follow him, looping my arm around his.

“Thanks, Babe,” I said, grinning at him. Thorin chuckles.

“Don’t thank me yet. You might think I suck.”

“Never!”

We enter the church and head into one of the back rooms. A couple guitar cases rests against the wall behind a drum set. We dig them out only to see if there is a guitar in one of them. Thorin rests it on the ground and, sure enough, an electric guitar rests in the second case.

We head back into the sanctuary and he sits on one of the stools reserved for the worship team on the stage. He plugs it into the amplifier and tunes the guitar, playing a few notes.

“I feel like an idiot,” he muttered.

“Well, you look cool,” I say. He looks _really_ cool. “You’re just missing a nice earring.” He glares at me. “Or not. Thorin, it’s just me. No one else is here and I’m not going to judge you if you screw up.”

He sighs and clears his throat and begins to sing:

_Oh Mama, I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law_

_L_ _aw man has put an end to my running and I'm so far from my home_

_Oh Mama I can hear you a cryin', you're so scared and all alone_

_Hangman is comin' down from the gallows and I don't have very long_

My mouth is dry and my eyes hurt, feeling as wide as they are. That…that _voice_ …I thought it was sexy before and now…No words will _adequately_ describe that voice anymore.

It _was_ “deep and cool as the sea” before _now_!

I’m so screwed.

His fingers struck a chord:

_The jig is up, the noose is out_

_They finally found me_

_The renegade who had it made_

_Retrieved for a bounty_

_Never more to go astray_

_T_ _his will be the end today_

_Of the wanted man_

Now this is unfair. He can sing _and_ he can play guitar. And he looks fucking _hot_ doing so.

This is _not fair_ at all. I’m struck dead. I am dead.

_Oh Mama, I've been years on the lam and had a high price on my head_

_Lawman said 'Get him dead or alive' and it's for sure he'll see me dead_

_Dear Mama I can hear you cryin', you're so scared and all alone_

_Hangman is comin' down from the gallows and I don't have very long_

 

_The jig is up, the noose is out_

_They finally found me_

_The renegade who had it made_

_Retrieved for a bounty_

_Never more to go astray_

_The judge will have revenge today_

_On the wanted man_

Guitar solo.

And I have officially lost ability to think like a rational human being.

I don’t know what to do with him. I thought he was sexy before. This is terribly unfair. He is _not_ allowed to have this much power over me.

No.

Just…no.

_Oh Mama, I'm in fear for my life from the long arm of the law_

_Hangman is comin' down from the gallows and I don't have very long_

 

_The jig is up, the noose is out_

_They finally found me_

_The renegade who had it made_

_Retrieved for a bounty_

_Never more to go astray_

_This will be the end today_

_Of the wanted man_

 

_The_ _wanted man_

_And I don't wanna go, oh, no_

_Oh Mama, don't let them take me_

_No, no, no,_ _I can't go_

_Hey, hey_

He struck the last chord, and stared at the ground before turning off the amp and returning the guitar to its case.

“Please say something,” he begged.

I sigh and approach him, giving him a hug.

“Give me a moment. I’m trying to think of something other than ‘hot damn, I want to fuck you right now.’ It’s a bit of a problem, given that, erm…Thorin, at this rate, I’m a bit scared someone’s going to try to take you from me and I don’t like that.”

He laughs, taking one of my hands in his and kissing it. “No. I sincerely doubt that, Bilbo. I’ve only been in love _one_ time and I happen to like being in love with you.”

“You are impossibly sweet,” I reply, standing on my toes to reach his mouth. He meets me halfway and lifts me up. “And we need to talk about your habit of picking me up.”

“You never complained before,” he said, sitting on one of the pews and kissing me again. “And I happen to enjoy picking you up.”

“Why? Direct access to my ass?”

“Well, that’s certainly part of it and it definitely catches _my_ attention,” Thorin admitted, smirking.

I grin against his mouth. “Damn it, Man, what have I _done_ to you?!”

“You don’t want to know,” He whispered huskily, sending shivers up my spine.

“Actually I think I do,” I nip his bottom lip. “I _really_ do. I want to know exactly what I’ve done to you to turn you from an _honorable, respectable_ priest into such a _hound_ because I am lost. I really don’t know what I did.”

“All you did,” Thorin said between kisses, “Was come into my life and fall in love with me. And the next thing I knew, I want to make love to you, kiss you, and make you blush because you are beautiful to me and you captivate me. You bring out the best and the worst of me and I don’t know how you did it because I’ve _never_ felt the way I do when I am with you, Bilbo Baggins.”

“I like that,” I purred, kissing him again. I am man enough to admit that I purred. Not manly, I know, but I don’t care. Not right now. Not when no one around to hear us.

Except maybe my father, but he’s not in the sanctuary.

Speaking of…

“We should get back to the parsonage before Dad starts looking for us,” I said, sighing. I get off his lap. “And maybe get a motel room somewhere so we can continue this without the fear of interruption.”

“Don’t want to scar your dad?”

“More like I don’t want Dad walking _in_ on us and have any awkward moments tomorrow.”

#

I do not _ever_ recall seeing a room this cool in the church before.

All the walls are painted a light tan brown. The wall opposite, in a readable, slanted script has Jeremiah 29: 11 ( _for I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord…_ ) in tree bark brown. The wall to my left has windows with the blinds that came with the church and covered in sheer dark blue drapes with 1st Timothy 4:12 ( _Do not let anyone look down on you because you are young…_ ) painted over the windows in ocean blue.

The wall to my left has no encouraging verse painted on it, but has a refrigerator filled with Pepsi products and bottled Starbucks frappuccinos in Vanilla, Coffee, and Mocha flavors. (I grabbed a Pepsi just to shut Dad up when he insisted I help myself.) There is a wood counter with a black microwave and a large coffee pot on top of it with Styrofoam cups. Beneath the counter are cabinets which, when I opened them, had plastic and paper plates, cups, cutlery, and boxes of popcorn. The only things that looked like they was made to last were the large plastic bowls. Beside the door is a large trashcan.

The plain brown carpet is covered in a round lime green and aqua blue carpet. Surrounding that were two ruby red futon couches that easily could fit three each and two saucer chairs, one green, one blue, and a black and white zebra striped beanbag chair.

I sit on one on one of the couches, looking around. “This is…”

“We let the kids take over and design the place,” Dad said. “With, of course, some supervision from me, Will, and their parents. There’re only eight teenagers who go to the youth group here right now. The whole room was a group effort. Everyone who could pitch in. The frig is old, but still works pretty well. It used to be part of the kitchen in the parsonage, but it was replaced. And the counter was built in by Holman. Most of this stuff came from Value Village or Good Will. The refreshments come out of the tithe, as does pizza nights and donuts.”

“Only eight?” I ask, I knew the church here was smaller than it used to be, but I didn’t think it was _that_ small.

“It varies church to church,” Dad said. “But it happens every so often: one generation comes in, has a bunch of babies, those babies grow up and no new kids come in, some leave for a church with more children because of it and churches like this have a small influx of teenagers, who eventually leave and go to college and sometimes never return. When they do, given five or so years, you get more babies being born. For instance, _three_ of our group is already heading off to college elsewhere, and _two_ have entered the adult classes.

“This church may be small now, but becoming open and affirming brought in several curious teenagers. All I and Will—and Thorin—can do is hope to teach them and bring them to Christ so that they may change the world for the better. And their generation is already at a head start. Several students around the country protest against their schools when a homosexual teacher is discriminated against.”

I grin. “I’m well aware, Dad. I have access to the news, you know.”Dad shrugs and Thorin comes in, pausing at the door and eyes scanning around the room.

“This is not fair,” he declares. “How’d you invest in making a room like this?”

“It was a group effort, apparently,” I clarify, taking a drink out of my Pepsi can.

“I’m not going to _be_ at St. Pat’s long enough to convince anyone to do this there,” he said. “Maybe I could get Fili to suggest it. Especially if it was a group effort.” Thorin sighed, sitting on the beanbag. He shook his head and stood, joining me on the couch instead.

“Did Will walk you through it?” Dad asked.

“Yes,” Thorin said. “It’s not _too_ different from how I do it, thankfully,” he said, his arm draped around my shoulder. “Though it feels odd not wearing the collar…”

“If you get the job, you won’t have to wear it anymore,” I say, grinning at him. “You’ll get used to it, Babe.” I kiss him. Thorin turns to Dad.

“I have a visual aid to go with it, so is there anything I can hook my computer to? A projector or…”

“Yeah,” Dad stands and Thorin follows. I finish my drink and toss it in the garbage can just as a kid walked in. He couldn’t have been older than twelve or thirteen…

And looks a little familiar. He resembles one of my uncles on the Baggins side, but which one?”

“Who are you?” he asks.

“I could ask the same,” I respond, a bit miffed at his lack of propriety. Sure, I’m not a _stickler_ for politeness like Dad is. Or was. Is he still? Probably.

I hold my hand out. “Bilbo Baggins.” He shakes it.

“Drogo. Are you Uncle Bungo’s son? It’s just…you look a bit like him. You also look to be about the right age…”

“Wait…you wouldn’t be Fosco’s son, are you?” He nodded. “I thought he still lived in Maine.”

“We moved here after I was born. Only ever heard about you.”

After he was born…that would have made me about eighteen, then. “Not all good, I bet.”

He shrugged. “Are you the new youth pastor?”

“No, my partner _might_ be. We’ll see after tonight.”

“Cool.”

“Drogo, get out of the doorway!” He was shoved and glared at the new comer. The boy glanced at me and smirked. “Hi. Name’s Saradas.”

“This is Bilbo,” Drogo said.

“ _The_ Bilbo?!”

“Yep.”

“Awesome!” Saradas pushed Drogo out of the doorway. “Am, Rori, C’mon!”

“’Das, stop pushing me!” Drogo snapped, wrapping his arm around Saradas’ neck. I pry them apart.

“Maybe you two should just sit down—”

A pair of hands yank them away from me. A boy about seventeen, or eighteen, glanced at me and grinned.

“Sorry about these idiots. Das, Dro, go sit down!”

“The boys pulled out of his grasp. Saradas kicked the older boy and claimed the beanbag. Two girls stepped in, one blonde and one auburn. The auburn haired girl gave me an ever suffering smile.

“Sorry about our brothers.”

“Drogo!” the blonde snapped. She glanced at me again and her eyes widened. “Bilbo?!”

I smile, recognizing her. “Hello, Dora.” I didn’t realize so much time had passed since I knew this little girl. She’s not so little anymore. One more girl stepped inside.

“How long will you be here?”

“I head back to New York tomorrow afternoon.”

Dora beamed. “I can’t really say much about _all_ of the family, but most of us missed you, Bilbo. It’s good to see you again. Will you be leading the group tonight?” I shake my head just as Thorin comes in. I point at him. “He is.”

“I’m what?” Dora stares at him and averts her gaze, blushing. Will enters and shouts at the group to settle down, pulling Saradas out of Rori’s headlock. The brothers only grin. And attention is called. “Well, I see I’ve got my hands full,” he muttered.

“Don’t think you can handle it?” I tease.

Thorin scoffs. “Ye of little faith. Two nephews _twice_ as rambunctious. I can handle them fine.”

“Were are Carl and Nick?” Will demands, counting heads. Dad _did_ say there were eight. Right now, there’s only six.

I make to leave, but Dora pulls me to the couch.“You’re welcome to stay,” she said. Seeing no way out, especially after Thorin’s pleading eyes (damn him), I sit back on the couch…And so it begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyric video for Styx’s Renegade http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KXPPPGr1qTg


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I am not trying to convert people when I throw in scripture passages here. If you are interested or have questions, drop me an e-mail in the comments—or if privacy is more favorable to you, visit my tumblr, the URL is in the endnotes.
> 
> This chapter is a bit heavy on the theology, as it depicts Thorin’s time in the youth group. The passage is 1st Timothy 4: http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1%20Timothy%204&version=NIV. 
> 
> It diverts to discuss a passage that seems anti-feminist back in chapter 2:9-15 and show why it actually is not anti-feminist and goes back to finish the discussion. I did not expect it to take up the whole chapter...
> 
> EDIT:
> 
> Now that the next chapter is up, if you have no interest in reading this chapter, you may skip it if you wish to read the next chapter!

“Which came first: the chicken or the egg?” Saradas asked, smirking at Thorin.

The group groaned. Rori hit the back of Saradas' head. Thorin hummed. "Which would you think it is."

“Obviously the chicken,” he replied. Saradas crossed his arms.

“Based on what?" Thorin pressed. "Scripture or evolution?”

“Both,” Saradas said. “Evolution is a proved theory. Everything started out as a cell and as time moved forward, a dinosaur became a chicken. According to scripture, adults had to be created before children could be born. Therefore, the chicken came first.”

Thorin shook his head. "Actually, it would be the egg. As you said: evolution is a proved theory, as is the statement that everything begins as a cell. The egg in general precedes the chicken billions of years, but even considering a 'chickenegg' a not-quite-yet chicken would have laid an egg in which a mutation has occured that the embryo would grow to be the first chicken. Hence the egg will always be first."*

“Does _anyone_ _else_ have something they want to ask Thorin before we delve into scripture?” Will asked. “Not you!” he snapped at Saradas, who pouted and slumped in his chair.

“Where were you ministering before?” Rori asked, tossing a baseball into the air and catching it. Will stood and grabbed it.

“St. Patrick’s Parish in New York: the big cathedral near Central Park,” Thorin said. “Actually I’m still there, but…” he glanced at me. “Let’s just say some things changed drastically for me while there.”

Rori shifted his gaze from Thorin to me and grins. Of course he’d put it together.

Dora tucks her legs under her. “Have you always lived in New York?”

“Yes.”

“If you could go _anywhere_ for vacation,” Drogo said, “Where would you go?”

Thorin blinked. “Huh…Not sure, I’ve been to several places before…probably Venice or Hawaii. Someplace warm.” He checked his watch and turned to Will. “Bout time?”

Will glanced at the clock. “Sure. Everyone have a Bible? Amaranth could you get them?”

Amaranth stood and went to the counter, kneeling down and opening the cabinets. She hands out orange and black paperback Bibles.

In the bottom left hand corner are the letters NIV. The cover reads:

 _How God, having created the world and having watched it turn against his purpose lived among us, was still rejected because he didn’t fit expectations, turned everything upside down to get things back on track and now invites you to find your place in **the Story of God**_.

I turn the cover to the first page:

_Creation, Life and Beauty, undone by death wrongdoing, regained by God’s victory, as told in the books of THE HOLY BIBLE New International Version._

“Everyone have one?” Will asked. Thorin’s, a brown leather bound book with loose pages sticking out the ends, had already turned to the page he wanted. “All right. They’re all yours.”

“How many of you have seen _Newsies_? Don’t raise your hands. I don’t care if you have or not, but if you haven’t, plan a movie night.” The kids laughed and he turned to his laptop, opening it up to a YouTube page. “We’re going to watch a clip from the movie. Can everyone see it?” They affirmed they could and he hit play.

Three minutes later, he closed the laptop and set it on the ground.

“Tonight we’re looking at First Timothy chapter four, which is on page eight hundred and thirty in the orange Bible.”

 _Well that helps me from having to flip through this thing_ , I thought, blushing, and finding the page. The chapter was read aloud, by eight of the nine of us. Once read, eyes shifted to Thorin.

“Drogo, could you read verse twelve one more time?”

“Sure,” Drogo pressed his finger against the page. “ _Don’t_ _let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, and in purity_.”

“What would that look like today? Saradas?”

He shrugged. “Well, maybe that…erm…even though we’re just in Jr. High and High School, we _can_ lead the church?”

“Or that we are called to set an example for both future and present members of the church,” Dora said. She flipped to a previous page. “According to the excerpt at the beginning of 1st Timothy, it says that Paul had just gotten out of prison in Rome when he heard knew that the church in Ephesus had strayed from the original gospel message and he charged Timothy with the task of setting things right while Paul tried to get there. However, not _once_ in the whole book does Paul give Timothy the task of leading the church.”

“What does Paul command Timothy to do then?” Thorin asks.

“Well…here, in the first six verses of chapter 4, Paul describes that false teachers and hypocrites give demons and dark spirits a foothold into the lives of others, spreading more and more lies until the people turned away completely.”

“All right.”

“And in the following verses, Paul warns Timothy against _godless myths_ and _wives’ tales_. Paul also advises him to _train yourself to be godly_.”

“There you are,” Thorin said. “First century Christians were _prime_ targets for spiritual attack and they were always hit hard. So hard, they always fell away in some way, almost becoming a cult that contradicted itself from the inside out and Paul was always trying to help them through it. Does anyone have any idea what it means to _train yourself to be godly_?”

Drogo cleared his throat. “Study the Bible and pray for understanding.”

Thorin nods. “He mentions that studying scripture is more important than exercise. Why is that?”

“He’s more concerned about our spiritual health,” Rori answered. “He doesn’t condemn excercise. Training the body has _never_ been condemned in the Bible. Exercise and healthy eating habits are always good, but Paul is _more concerned_ with our spiritual health.”

“Why is our spiritual health more important than physical health?”

Rori cleared his throat and stared at his Bible. “Because in verse 8 Paul says that, _godliness_ _has value for all things, holding promise for both the present life and the life to come_. So—”

“So,” Amaranth interrupted. “Sorry.”

“You want it?”

“You go first.”

“’Kay, So, as I was saying…uh…right! Our physical body will die, it decays, but our soul does not. Being spiritually healthy aids us in the afterlife.”

Eyes shifted to Amaranth. “Which was what I was going to say,” she said. “With addition that verses nine and ten go on to say _why_ spiritual health is more important than physical health, which we already answered, but it includes that the acceptance that Jesus is the son of God and the Messiah promised to save us from our sin is where we begin in becoming spiritually healthy.”

Thorin nods. “When Paul says _command and teach these things_ in verse eleven, what is he telling Timothy? Is he demanding that he lead the church?”

“Yes,” Saradas said despite the numerous head shakes.

“Why?” Thorin asks him.

“Leaders are known to command, and teachers teach. In the church, leaders and teachers were and are the same.”

“Okay, everyone else disagrees. Does someone want to explain why?”

The third girl (Menegilda or something like that) clears her throat. “If Timothy was our age, he’d be too young to lead in the way Das thinks he did. He might be a little older, but usually the church is led by Christians who have been walking with Christ for much longer than us. Paul might actually be saying in verse eleven that he wants Timothy to set an example for the church. It doesn’t necessarily mean that Das is wrong, because it’s possible, but it’s unlikely.”

“That’s exactly right. You’re _both_ right. This church already had leaders. Leaders who fell away and were teaching things that were _far_ from what Paul originally taught them. Timothy was meant to set an example for them, but he was also supposed to try and put it on the right path. There is instruction to how leaders are supposed to conduct themselves in church, and instruction to Timothy to _publically_ read scripture daily, as well as how men and women, respectively, should behave at church.”

“What’s said about women in 1st Timothy is sexist,” Amaranth scoffed.

Thorin shakes his head. “Actually, Amaranth, it’s not. Let’s look at it: It begins in 1st Timothy 2:9 and ends at verse fifteen.”

We read it. I would _really_ like to know how it’s not sexist. What is written here does _not_ sit well with me at all. I feel like I just swallowed a lemon.

“The women of Ephesus were teaching a cultic, heretical doctrine just as what the men in this church were doing,” Thorin said. “They were also dressing in a way that led them to comparing their wealth and the wealth of their husbands. They were being disruptive and hypocritical, and they were spreading lies to lead the church, made up of _both_ men and women, astray.

“Paul is _not_ saying that women have no authority to teach men. It is hard to tell, I know, but the first chapter of this book leading up to 2:9, he is talking only about the faults of false _male_ teachers. Then has a small excerpt about false _female_ teachers and their conduct.

“Now the only reason this sticks out to you in a negative way, ladies, is because you are taught to criticize and defend anything negative someone has to say about your sex and sexuality. Such an outlook is _very_ dangerous when reading ancient texts such as the Bible. You _cannot ever_ look at what is written here from a modern perspective or with a modern culture in mind.

“There are _tons_ of commentaries on the Bible and many are now online. Whenever something doesn’t sit well with you, I encourage you to look it up in one of those commentaries, whether it is secular or religious. Personally I would encourage both. It gives you historical context and explanations. Women teach in the church all the time. Some synagogues have women for rabbis. Christianity may not be _seen_ as feminist today, but in historical context, it is _radically_ feminist. And in many ways, it still is.

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t sit well with _me_ sometimes,” he admits. “Much of what the Bible says doesn’t sit well with me. I’m gay.”

He holds up his Bible.

“Modern interpretation and cultural implications have shifted what is actually said in this book about my own sexuality and to find out what was originally said, I had to do a lot of digging and a lot of research into both secular and religious commentaries, historical texts, and much more—and this was _way_ before the internet existed.

“I found out that our modern interpretation does not fit with what was originally written. Even the clearest verse against homosexuality did not originally condemn homosexuality, but moral weakness and cult prostitution. And it _never did_ until the twentieth century.”

“They _changed_ what the Bible said?!” Drogo exclaimed. “There’s gotta be a law against that!”

“There is,” Thorin said. “At the very end of the Bible, in the book of Revelation, chapter 22: 18-19 which says that any who takes or adds or in any way changes what is said in ‘this scroll’ will be cursed. Some interpret that command to only refer to the book of Revelation. And maybe it does. But I find it hard to believe that it does not _include_ this whole Bible—especially if it encourages hatred as homophobic interpretations have done in the last century.”

I stare at him, unsure what to think about this. My parents often fought about their differences, almost _never_ delving into what was really said. I tried—when I was a Christian all those years ago—but here I am, learning something I may have stared at hundreds of times and _never_ thought beyond what was right in front of me and my own interpretation.

No one ever said to me that that was dangerous before. Or rather, they _did_ but only on the level that it could divert you from what is really said. Not that our modern culture is imposed on it and that _that_ is dangerous because it _already does_ divert from what the Bible actually says.

“Shall we get back to Chapter four?” Thorin asks when no one asks more questions concerning sexuality and feminism.

“In verse twelve, he gives Timothy the instruction to not let people look down on him because of his age. Why would he say this? Why imply that there are going to be those who _will_ look down on him for his age?”

“Because they _will_ ,” Dora said. “Paul _warns_ Timothy that he will be scoffed at and be told, ‘shut up, Kid, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Go play ball in the corner and let the _adults_ handle it.’ But that’s the problem isn’t it? The adults _aren’t_ handling it. At least, not in the way they’re supposed to.”

“Likewise,” Menegilda adds,” “Paul tells him, ‘don’t be discouraged when that happens. _Show_ them what it means to follow Christ with _everything_ that defines you.’ Timothy is encouraged to _live_ his faith publicly and _strike_ against the Ephesian church as it was at that time, just as _we_ are encouraged to live _our_ faith.”

“How would that look like?” Thorin asked. “Living your faith?”

“Paul suggests five ways in which Timothy can live out his faith,” Rori said. “In speech, conduct, love, faith, and purity.”

“Yes, but _what_ does that look like? Can we swear excessively? Behave inappropriately? Get drunk? Do drugs? Start a mob? Rob a bank?” There’s some laughter. “Kill?” The laughter dies. “No. Not one of those things fits with what Paul commissions Timothy to do as a young Christian. So, what _is_ Paul saying? _How_ should a young Christian act?”

“The opposite,” Dora said. “Of all the things you brought up. Don’t swear, but let the words you speak be affirming. Behave in a way that shows you take your faith seriously. Love may also mean respect, so even though the church has lost respect and does not deserve it, Timothy still gives it. When Paul says purity he may mean sexual purity, but I’m not sure.”

“Why do you say sexual purity?” Thorin asks. “This verse says nothing about sex. The whole _passage_ says nothing about sex.”

“It’s still a part of us,” Dora said. “And to be ‘sexually pure’ means you’ve decided to wait until marriage.”

“Okay,” Thorin said. “But purity need not _be_ sexual—you’re right, waiting for marriage is a good decision to make—but purity is _not_ linked to sexuality here. Could it also mean, instead, that purity is equated to trying to sin less? To try and mimic Jesus in the way he lived his life?”

Dora nods. “I guess so, but I thought that’s what Paul might have meant by faith.”

“Faith is the act of believing despite having lack of proof. So when Paul says, ‘set an example for the believers in faith,’ he is not saying ‘mimic Jesus,’ he is saying, ‘Believe even though there is no proof to what you believe.’”

Dora hums. “That makes more sense.”

“Bilbo hasn’t said anything,” Drogo announced.

I blanch. _The little twerp_. Thorin’s smirking. I shake my head. _No. Nonono. No._

“Bilbo.”

 _If he does this, he is_ not _getting any for a long time_ , I decide.

“What do you think of verses thirteen and fourteen?”

The cheeky bastard is grinning.

I shake my head and glance at the passage: _Until I come, devote yourself to the public reading of scripture, to preaching and to teaching. Do not neglect your gift, which was given to you through prophecy when the body of elders laid their hand on you._

I sigh. “He alludes to that Timothy is a prophet, which I guess does not mean today what it meant then.”

“It doesn’t. Prophecy then meant preaching. He was given the gift to teach others about God.”

 _Oh fuck_. “It says they ‘laid hands on him,’ which just means they prayed for him before sending him out.” Thorin nods. That’s encouraging. “I don’t know what else to get out of it…”

“That’s fine, it’s good. These two verses note _how_ Timothy can best live by example. He is a young pastor in a hostile church and Paul is encouraging him to keep at it: to keep doing what he’s doing and to not give up. Two verses left! In fifteen, what does Paul encourage Timothy to do?”

“To be ‘diligent,’” Menegilda said. “And to ‘progress.’”

“Pretend we’re preschoolers. What does diligent mean?”

“Um…steadfast or dedicated.”

“Think younger. Smaller words,” Thorin pushed.

“To keep at it—and grow.”

“Yes!” He exclaims excitedly, startling me. “People leave the church every day _because they do not grow_ in their faith. They are _not_ diligent for one reason or another. Name a few reasons.”

“The church they go to isn’t actually following God,” Drogo suggests.

“They face persecution and can’t handle it,” Saradas adds.

“They encounter too many problems with their faith,” Amaranth says.

“They expect that it’s all sunshine and rainbows,” Rori half-jokes.

“They’re discriminated against because of who they are, be it because of their sexuality, race, gender, or mental capacity,” Dora says.

“Are any of these reasons _really_ good enough to stop following God? Or just the church?” Thorin asks. I’m relieved he calmed down a bit.

“Neither,” Drogo said. “If anything, they could just find a better church but there is _no_ reason good enough to _not_ follow God.”

“A lot of people disagree, how would you defend that statement?”

Drogo shrugged.

“It’s good to have faith, but many you encounter _will_ tell you you’re wrong. They _will_ tell you that God does not exist, that he is to blame for the world’s wrong. You and I know that the only to blame is Satan, not God. They will say ‘if God exists, why does suffering happen?’ They will want to know why you say God should not be blamed. What would you say?”

Drogo stares at his hands. “Maybe,” he bites his lip, an embarrassed blush creeping up his neck.

“It’s okay to not know right now, Drogo,” Thorin said softly. “But you should consider your answer. Think on it and pray about it. You are going to be challenged in your faith and _that_ is one of the questions that you will one day need to answer in order to defend it.”

I am unsure how to react to that. A part of me thinks he was too harsh, but then again…

Was he really? Or was he being honest for the sake of teaching not just _Drogo_ but the whole group?

“Wouldn’t the best way to defend it be to look back in Genesis?” Drogo so quietly it’s almost missed. Thorin nods, smiling.

“That’s where to start,” he agreed. “The last verse and then we’re done! _Watch your life and doctrine closely. Persevere in them, because if you do, you will save both yourself and your hearers_. What does Paul mean by hearers? Why does he say ‘hearers’ and not ‘listeners’?”

“Because they aren’t actually listening to Timothy,” Dora said.

“Then why bother doing all this publicly?”

“Because he has a chance of bringing them back anyway,” Rori answered. “What he reads aloud and the way he acts might inspire them to come back to God and repent.”

“What do you mean by repent? Many Christians use that word, some non-Christians too, and I usually wonder if they know what it means.”

“It means to turn around and go in the opposite direction you are going in because the way you _were_ going is the wrong way.”

“So…if we were to get in a car right now and you were to direct me to go to McDonald’s, and I went all the wrong ways—”

The room filled with laughter. Rori shook his head. “No! No! That’s not what I mean!”

“Then what do you mean?”

“Turn away from _sin_! Repentance means to turn away from sin!”

“Oh.” Thorin pauses, waiting for everyone to calm down. Then turns back to Rori. “What’s sin?” Laughter returns. Saradas leans against Drogo, clutching his stomach. Rori mock-glares at Thorin.

“Immoral action stemmed by immoral beliefs.”

“Is that what the dictionary would say?”

“No.”

“What would a dictionary say then?”

“Well let me check my fancy iPhone…”

“You do that.”

“I will,” Rori said, phone in hand. “Just watch me. I will.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I am—oops, porn shouldn’t be on this…”

My eyes bugged. _What in the world?! Isn’t that a porn site?! Wait…damn it, he’s joking._

More laughter echoed around the room. Thorin shook his head, pinching his nose and trying not to laugh himself.

“Rori,” Will said, “Is there something we need to talk about?”

“Yes.”

“All right. Cuz you really shouldn’t have porn on your phone. For many reasons.”

“I know…And I don’t really have porn on my phone, Will. Please don’t tell my parents I said that…Okay! ‘Sin: noun. Offense against God, good morals, etcetera.’ Courtesy of M-W.”

“So basically, it’s just anything bad,” Saradas concluded.

“Okay, okay,” Thorin checks his watch. “Five more minutes and then we’ll close in prayer. The church in Ephesus turned away from God and sinned. Timothy’s job was to get them to turn away from sin, but his job was also to continue believing even in the midst of godlessness. He was facing persecution for doing what he was commanded to do and Paul encouraged him to keep at it despite the persecution he faced for continuing to believe in Jesus Christ, the son of God and the Savior of all nations.”

Thorin took a calming breath, still a bit red from laughter.

“Can I get three of you to close us in prayer?”

The room went peacefully quiet, merriment still thick in the air as heads were bowed and hands clasped together…

#

“I cannot _believe_ you put me on the spot like that!” I snap, shoving Thorin playfully as we sat upstairs in the sanctuary, enjoying pizza with the rest of the group.

Thorin snorted. “I’m sorry, Sweetie.”

“No you’re not!”

He grinned. “Okay, I’m not, but you _did_ answer it very well.” I glare at him, rolling my eyes and taking a bite out of my pizza in a display I hoped seemed indignant. “I love you.”

“Don’t even try.”

“Someone’s in the doghouse!” Saradas shouted.

Thorin shook his head. “And I thought Fili was bad,” he said.

“Is that bad?”

“No, I can handle it,” he said, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. “I’d just rather not…I _refuse_ to introduce him to Fili.”

I click my tongue. “Yeah, that could be dangerous.”

“It _will_ be very dangerous,” he corrects.

“PDA!! PDA!!” Saradas shouted, running by us.

“SARADAS!!!” Amaranth shrieked.

“You will have your hands full.”

Thorin scoffed. “My _current_ group at St. Pat’s has about twenty teenagers, one of them is my nephew. This is actually pretty tame.” He took a giant bite out of his pizza, eyes shining.

I lean against him, laying my head on his shoulder. “I had guessed you were passionate about your faith,” I said, “But I never realized _how_ much. And yet…you never _once_ pushed me to…”

“I never will,” he said between bites. “It _has_ to be your choice, Bilbo and only yours. I pray for you, though, and do my best to be a true representation of Christ. Even then, sometimes I fail.”

“You’re human.”

He laughed. “About time you realized it.”

I frown, sitting up. “Did I put you on a pedestal and not realize it?”

He shrugged, swallowing. “I’m a Christian. Everyone puts me on a pedestal too high and _hope_ that I fall so that they can beat me down for not being strong enough in my faith. They expect me to ‘be perfect,’ except perfection can only be imitated. Only _one_ human was ever perfect and our goal is to _try_ to emulate him. And it’s through trying that we receive salvation because without God’s sacrifice, we have _nothing_ to live for. You’re not the first, but I am glad you started to see me for what I am.”

“I’m sorry, Babe.”

Thorin pressed his forehead to mine. “You’re forgiven. Always.”

I grin. “I love you.”

“And I—”

“PDA! PDA!” Saradas screamed.

“Who gave him caffeine?!” Thorin shouted at the group, only receiving bouts of laughter instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AGAIN, I AM NOT TRYING TO CONVERT PEOPLE TO CHRISTIANITY!!! Here’s my tumblr if you have questions you’d rather no one see: http://www.tumblr.com/blog/silverneko9lives0 Negative, anti-Christian comments will be ignored.
> 
> Clip from Newsies, “Seize the Day” http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOnuGJsEV_8
> 
> I will not be posting a chapter next week as I’ll be on a mission trip, so here’s a second one for today to make up for it. I’ll have one up when I can.
> 
> *Evolution quip thanks to Barlogirl!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, we saw Thorin at work at the youth group in Albany-an age group of 12-18 year olds. They cover 1st Timothy 4 which is mainly about how young adults can lead the church via example. Bilbo sits in, though he feels awkward being there, and participates with the group...Yeah, that's literally the summary of the last chapter.
> 
> Now they return to New York!
> 
> Warnings:  
> Mentions of past abuse   
> Mentions of murder, stalker tendencies, and obsession

_I lean against him, laying my head on his shoulder. “I had guessed you were passionate about your faith,” I said, “But I never realized how much. And yet…you never once pushed me to…”_

_“I never will,” he said between bites. “It has to be your choice, Bilbo and only yours. I pray for you, though, and do my best to be a true representation of Christ. Even then, sometimes I fail.”_

_“You’re human.”_

_He laughed. “About time you realized it.”_

_I frown, sitting up. “Did I put you on a pedestal and not realize it?”_

_He shrugged, swallowing. “I’m a Christian. Everyone puts me on a pedestal too high and hope that I fall so that they can beat me down for not being strong enough in my faith. They expect me to ‘be perfect,’ except perfection can only be imitated. Only one human was ever perfect and our goal is to try to emulate him. And it’s through trying that we receive salvation because without God’s sacrifice, we have nothing to live for. You’re not the first, but I am glad you started to see me for what I am.”_

_“I’m sorry, Babe.”_

_Thorin pressed his forehead to mine. “You’re forgiven. Always.”_

_I grin. “I love you.”_

#

Other than a “slight discomfort” with how the church was run (and both my father and Thorin assured me that such feelings were completely normal), Thorin fit right in with the church. We returned to New York in the afternoon and part ways near the church.

Thorin sends me a text as he walks away: _See you soon. I love you._

I grin at the message and respond in a similar fashion before reaching my own stop. Once my feet hit the cement sidewalk, my phone rings. It’s Beorn.

“Hello,” I say.

“ _Bilbo, how’s it going?_ ”

“Good,” I say, checking my watch. “You?”

“ _Very good. The project’s just about finished. I’m already sending invitations to the art show out to those who helped me with my latest work._ ”

“That’s wonderful! I’m not sure if I’ll be able to go…”

“ _That’s fine. It’s RSVP only, anyway._ ”

“Oh,” I say. “Well, I suppose that would make sense. I’ll try to convince Thorin. I’d like to go.”

“ _Good luck with that._ ”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine with it…” I turn around, brow furrowed and scanned the crowd around him.

“ _Bilbo_?”

“Hm?”

“ _Is everything all right? You seem a bit distracted?_ ”

“I…er…well…sorry,” I finish lamely. “I _thought_ you were stalking me again, but I suppose you’d not do that again.”

“ _No. I wouldn’t. Your faith in me is refreshing,_ ” he said dryly. “ _But you feel watched?_ ”

“Yes. I don’t know who…but…” I feel shivers crawl up my skin. “Actually, I have someone in mind.”

“ _Bilbo, you’re a courageous guy for someone so tiny—_ ”

“I resent that! I know I’m smaller than average, but everyone in my family is _small_!”

“ _Not what I meant,_ ” Beorn said. “ _And you know it. Just keep walking. Whatever you do, do not engage._ ”

“Sadly, my fight or flight response heavily leans toward _fight_.”

“ _I’m well aware,_ ” Beorn sighed. I turn around and continue on my way despite the feeling of needing to confront whoever is following me now. “ _Does this happen to you often? Getting random stalkers?_ ”

“Lately, yes.”

“ _Not including me_.”

“But you _did_ stalk me.”

“ _Unintentionally!_ ”

“How about I call you when I get home safely.”

“ _Fine but Bilbo, don’t try to engage him…or her. It could be a ‘her.’”_

“I’m not making promises,” I say. “Talk to you soon.”

“ _Bilbo!_ ”

I hang up before he can protest further, stuffing my phone in my pocket despite that it started to ring again, and turning down a corner into an alley and wait, leaning against the wall and watching the street for any sign of someone _searching_ or acting confused.

Several minutes pass with no such luck. The feeling does not ebb, but as I come to the conclusion to leave, I feel hands around my waist and lips press to my neck. I pull away, hands balled into fists, and Smaug smirks at me.

“What are you doing?”

“I could ask the same,” he said, seizing me and pinning me against the wall before I could think of a way to escape. “Where’s your partner?” he asked. “At mass, I suppose. Quite like him. Does he know you wander the streets—”

“It’s the fucking middle of the day. What exactly would I be doing that would give him any reason to worry? Let go of me.”

“Why?” he whispered in my ear. “Don’t you want to know about that night? The way you begged so prettily for me?”

“I was _drunk_ ,” I hiss. “And grieving. You really believe I _wanted_ you? I’d _never_ want you!” I shove him off me. I’m shaking. I don’t want to remember and I’m happy that I don’t. I’m okay with _not_ remembering. I spit at his feet. “Next time, I’ll sue for harassment.”

Smaug stares at me, as though unsure of what I had said. He’s confused, of course, and when it registers that I had certainly threatened him, his gaze darkens.

“Fine,” he said, walking away. He stops and turns toward me. “But this isn’t over, Baggins. I wonder how many had their hearts broken by you before…you heart-thief.” Smaug heads in the opposite direction I am headed in. His words shouldn’t cut deep, but they do.

 _Heart-thief_ , he called me. I’ve been called that before…sort of…

_“How can you not love me?! You’ve stolen my heart only to break it! Before you, I never would have thought to love a man!”_

Yeah, but that was _years_ ago. A very long time ago—before I met Dwalin—and I push the memory down before it overwhelms me.

 _I don’t want to remember,_ I think. _I don’t want to remember._

I hurry back home. Bofur is watching Netflix on the TV, glancing at me for a moment before spinning back to me and pausing the movie.

“Bilbo?”

“I’m fine,” I say.

“Did you and Thorin…”

“No, no, we’re fine. It’s not that…I just…”

Bofur sighs. “Dwalin?” I shake my head.

“Deagol, then?” I bow my head and sigh. Bofur and I sit on the couch and he rubs my back. “You’re okay. It won’t happen again. You _know_ it won’t happen again.”

“But…”

“Bilbo, Thorin loves you to death. So did Dwalin. And so did Deagol.”

“What if Thorin dies too?” I ask. “What if he’s killed? Murdered?”

“He won’t be.”

“It could happen again and I don’t…I don’t think I can go through it again,” I say, tears spilling out. “Why do I always get attention I don’t want?”

“Bilbo, you’re a bright person. You’re enigmatic and sharp. You’re very passionate and caring. Many people are attracted to you,” Bofur said. “It’s not your fault that some of the people who fell in love with you were bad. You never _asked_ for them to fall in love with you. You never _asked_ for anything you didn’t want. You are a wonderful man and any of those who you gave your heart to were lucky to have it for however long they had it for. What happened to Deagol and to Dwalin is tragic, but I know you’re comforted in that their deaths weren’t hate-crimes…”

It is a slim comfort, but true…to a sense. Dwalin’s death was certainly a hate-crime, just not toward his sexuality. No, he was killed because he was an American.

And Deagol…his cousin fixated on me. He was obsessed to the point where he’d have done _anything_ …I did _nothing_ to encourage Sméagol and _yet_ I came to Deagol’s dorm room _just as_ Sméagol had finished snuffing the life from him, hands still curled around his neck.

And the horror in Sméagol’s eyes when he saw me standing in the doorway…the terror I felt before running and calling the police…

_“Bilbo…Bilbo wait! Bilbo I love you! Please Precious, let me explain!”_

I shuddered.

“It’s okay, he can’t get you,” Bofur reminded me.

“Who? Sméagol or Sauron?”

“Neither of them,” Bofur said. “You made sure of it. Who is after you now? Is it Beorn?”

I shook my head. “The…guy who…” I swallow. “The guy who I had sex with the night I learned that Dwalin was dead…he showed himself…again. He called me a heart-thief. Why does this always happen to me?”

“It _doesn’t_ ,” Bofur said. “Bilbo, it doesn’t. You aren’t doing anything you don’t want to do. You chose who you love and you love them unconditionally. Some people never experience that and they want to leech off it. Don’t _ever_ think about Sauron or Sméagol. Sauron was god-awful to you and Nori and I are _so_ glad you got out of that as soon as you did. And Sméagol never should have pursued you in the first place, Bilbo. He’s not well. Not all there in the head if he’s willing to kill to have you. He and Sauron were selfish. They never deserved you the way Deagol and Dwalin did. And Thorin is going to be okay. He’ll be okay. You’ll see.”

I take a shaky breath. I want to text Thorin, tell him I need him, but…as true as that is, I don’t want my past dragging me down to such a place where I feel dependant on anyone—let alone my beloved Thorin. I can’t ask that of him when he doesn’t know.

“Does Thorin know about this?”

I shake my head. “I usually am able to forget it ever happened, but today…”

“Today you remembered?” I nodded. Bofur sighed. “Bilbo, he needs to know about Deag and Sméagol. And Sauron. What’s the harm? Why do you insist on burying these things and keeping them locked away.”

“It’s easier?”

“Is it? Until today, you’ve not given Deagol a moment of your memory and now look at you! I know that memory hurts. It’s never going to _stop_ hurting if you don’t deal with it and tell Thorin about it. Better do it _now_ rather than later when Sméagol is released and decides to break parole or the restraining order and go after you.”

“I can’t…”

“Sauron isn’t coming after you, but Sméagol needs to be medicated or in an asylum. He _will_ come after you if he gets it in his head to do so. He is _sick_ , Bilbo. He wouldn’t have fixated on you as much as he did otherwise…”

I shake my head. Bofur and Nori may think Sméagol is sick, and maybe he is…but I’m not completely convinced. Some of the things he said to me, the way he acted…the look in his eyes when I caught him murdering Deagol…

He wasn’t sick. He knew _exactly_ what he was doing…

 _“How can you not love me?!”_ he had shouted at me as he was dragged out of the courtroom when I testified to seeing him over Deagol, hands curled around his neck. The same day, I testified that he had stalked me, sent me threatening notes confessing a “love” he couldn’t have really felt. _“You’ve stolen my heart only to break it! Before you, I never would have thought to love another man! I love you, you bastard! I love you!”_

I don’t want to remember.

“Do you want me to call Thorin?” I shake my head. “Bilbo…”

“I know this sounds ridiculously silly,” I say, “and I do want him here, but he _just_ got back to his parish. I want him here, but I can’t…I can’t do that right now. I’ll…I’ll tell him about… _that_ , but right now—”

“Right now, you need your partner. If you don’t call him I will,” Bofur threatened. “Bilbo, it’s not selfish to want him close by. You know this. You _know_ it’s not selfish to want Thorin close to you. There are days I feel like I’m drowning too and I used to feel the same as you: that I shouldn’t call Nori and tell him I need him. But when I did submit to that feeling and call him…I never regretted it. He always came through somehow. So get off your butt and _call_ Thorin.”

“What if he doesn’t answer?”

“Leave a message. He’ll get back to you.” I sigh.

“You good?”

I nod. “I’ll live.” Bofur grins. “What do you want for dinner?” I ask, standing and wiping my eyes.

“I’ll tell you _after_ you call Thorin,” he says, pressing play on the Netflix account. I sniff and go to the bathroom to splash my face with warm water before sending Beorn a text:

_I’m home. I’m fine._

Then I call Thorin.

“ _Hello?_ ”

“Thorin…”

“ _Bilbo, what’s wrong?_ ” he asked, panicked. “ _Are you okay?_ ”

“Yeah, yeah,” I tell him, sitting on my bed, legs pulled to my chin. “Just…bad memories…Bofur said I should whine to you about it, but honestly, I just…”

“ _Listening to people whine is still part of my job, Sweetie_ ,” he said. “ _And whatever it is, I’ll listen. Would you like me to come over?_ ”

“While I would love that, I don’t know if it’s a good idea.”

“ _So long as I’m back before evening mass, its fine._ ”

“Which is when?”

“ _In a couple hours._ ”

I smile. “You should stay then,” I tell him. “I love you, Thorin. And I’m amazed you love me…despite…” I swallow. “Despite my past.”

“ _Ah. No starting with ‘forgive me father for I have sinned?’_ ”

“I’m not in a joking mood.”

“ _Sorry. Go on. What is it?_ ”

I start with after I came out. How high school after that was horrid for me. Then I went to college and roomed with Bofur and Nori…and met Deagol in a class freshman year.

I was an English Language and Literature major; he was a Biology major and wanted to study marine life after graduating. I was gay; he was bisexual.

We both needed a friend in those years and somehow, within a month it progressed to something more. I didn’t mean to fall in love with him and I was scared of ruining our friendship. Only, he took a risk and told me he was in love with me. I was shocked and he backed off for a day or two before I sought him out and told him.

He was killed before the end of our freshman year—murdered by his roommate and cousin, Sméagol, because his cousin, who was straight, believed he had fallen in love with me. How that came to pass, I don’t know. All I know is that it was a sloppy crime of passion.

Sméagol had told me he was in love with me before, but I was already dating Deagol and I had no intention of getting into something so messy as a love triangle between two cousins who were close enough to pass as brothers.

I had no intention of encouraging Sméagol, so I told him no. More than once, he approached me and I would tell him no. I explained that I didn’t date straight men and that I was already committed to Deagol. He wasn’t fazed and sent me extremely frightening “love notes” in the kind that were in the whole “if I can’t have you no one will” cliché.

Cliché or not, it’s terrifying. I had told Deagol about this and he promised to talk to Sméagol about it. The next day, when going to get Deagol so we could go to lunch, I found Sméagol leaning over him, hands grasping Sméagol’s throat.

I was terrified. I ran. I got the police. Sméagol tried to hide, but was found within twelve hours and taken to prison for the duration of his trial. I signed a restraining order against him before he made bail and was in witness protection during the trial. It wasn’t long. The murder, again, was very sloppy and the evidence against Sméagol was overwhelming.

He went to prison declaring in a very deranged way that he loved me.

He was sentenced to fifty years.

I grieved for Deagol once I wasn’t scared that Sméagol would come after me, comforted by the fact that he was in prison. A few months later, I must still have been grieving because I was stupid enough to hook up with Sauron.

He was strong, enigmatic, and beautiful. I believed I loved him. I believed I was over the moon in love and yet…

Yet he abused me verbally, mentally, physically, and sexually. He cheated on me often and I was so frightened of him that I couldn’t confront him. I barely was able to see my friends. I was unable to do _anything_ until Nori decided to intervene and piled enough evidence against Sauron for me to have _him_ arrested for abuse.

I didn’t even realize until after he was gone and sent to a super max that I had developed Stockholm syndrome.

That was a year before my last year of college. I spent much of that time healing and studying.

Then I met Dwalin, who frightened me at first, but quickly dissolved my fears by stumbling over the invitation to have a drink with him. The next five years after were the best of my life. I had never thought I’d have a healthy relationship after Sauron, but I did have one with Dwalin. My mother liked him. Bofur and Nori liked him, I loved him…that was all that mattered. I felt safe with him.

“…You know the rest,” I said. My tears had dried and my heart ached, but here I am.

“ _We’ll talk more after mass,_ ” Thorin said, “ _But right now, I’m afraid I have to go._ ”

“Will you be…”

“ _Hon, I’ve come across some horrible stories and have secretly given last rights to suicide victims._ ”

“I thought that…”

“ _Yeah. We aren’t supposed to, but I never believed it was my place to deny someone their final rights no matter_ how _they died. It never sat well with me._ ”

I smile. “And whatever doesn’t sit well with you, you just rebel against?”

“ _Sadly…_ ”

“I actually find that hot,” I say, “Very hot.”

“ _You probably shouldn’t—they’re knocking. I do have to go. I love you, Bilbo._ ”

“Love you too.”

He hangs up and I close my phone. When I enter the living room, the smell of pizza wafts past my nose. I frown at Nori and Bofur. “Have I been…”

“Since you went into your room,” Bofur said.

“What were you and Thorin talking about?” Nori asked. He smirked. “Were you having phone sex?”

I snort, throwing a pillow at him.

“Hey!”

“As if we could even _take_ the risk,” I say. “No, it was angst and schmoop for the last two hours.”

“Aw,” Nori pouts. “You’re no fun.”

“That’s enough, Love,” Bofur said, handing him a plate with a slice of pepperoni pizza. “Eat your dinner.” He turned to me. “He knows?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“We’ll be discussing it more _after_ mass,” I say, sitting beside Nori and taking a slice of my own pizza.

#

Thorin arrives around nine o’clock. He welcomes the pizza and Bofur and Nori escape the apartment so to give us space. After he’s eaten, Thorin pulls me into is arms and kisses me.

“I am so sorry so much has happened to you, Bilbo,” he whispered. “Nothing will happen to me. I promise you I’ll be okay. It’s okay.”

I kiss him back, gripping his shirt in both my hands.

“I love you,” I whisper against his lips. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose you.” I wince at how stupidly dependant on Thorin I sound.

He keeps kissing me, though, moving from my lips to my jaw and my neck.

“Same here,” he whispers between kisses. “Rationally, I know we’ll be okay if anything happens to us, but the emotional side of me…”

I groan, threading my hands through his hair and closing my eyes, breathing growing heavy in my arousal.

“Marry me,” Thorin whispered.

My eyes open and I pull away, staring at him. “We agreed…” I say, shaking.

“I know—”

“No, we _agreed_ not to rush this,” I snap. His panic ebbs, face falling to be a mask of despair. I run a hand through my hair shakily.

“I love you, Thorin,” I say more calmly. “I really do, but I’m…I don’t think…we aren’t _ready_ for that yet. I don’t want to rush into marriage without having been with you for at least a year…it’s only been three months at most! I can’t…I can’t say yes. Not yet…I want to. I love you and I want to say yes, but…” I shake my head. “No. At this moment, I can only say no. I’m sorry. No. I can’t marry you. Not right now.”

I can’t look at him. I can’t bear to see the reflection of his heart breaking in his eyes. I pull my knees up to my chin and hide my face in them. Thorin is silent and I can feel his eyes burning into me.

“Please say something,” I beg him. “Or do something.”

 _Yell at me,_ I think, _hit me. I’ll take it if it’s what you want to do. Tell me I’m horrible for wanting you at one moment and then not at all the next! I know that’s what it sounds like even though it’s not true. Go ahead and break my heart back. I know I just broke yours…_

Arms pull me into a lap. Lips kiss the top of my head. Hands lock me in place. I am shaking.

“I understand,” he whispered. “But I won’t apologize for saying it. I do want to marry you one day, Bilbo. I want to call you my husband.” I swallow and fresh tears well in my eyes. I breathe shakily.

“I love you,” I say. “I love you so much.”

“I know. I love you too.”

“I’m sorry.” He shushes me, squeezing my shoulder.

“You don’t believe we’re ready for that,” he said. “I believe you. I trust you. Out of the two of us, you know more about relationships, Bilbo. If you don’t think we’re ready for marriage, then I will trust you.”

I suppress a whimper. Of all the guys I couldn’t deserve if I tried….of all the men who I could have fallen in love with after Dwalin, it had to be _Father Thorin Durin_. A _priest_. I had to fall in love with someone who is supposed to be as unavailable as could be. We probably broke I don’t even fucking _know_ how many rules to be together…

There’s no fire from heaven. No lightening striking me down for falling in love with him, and for giving him my body…no judgment from heaven falling down.

Since meeting him I feel I’ve started to know God again. Not the God of wrath that I have long believed he was, but the God of mercy, wisdom, compassion, love, and justice.

I feel like I’ve come across a part of God that I’ve forgotten and heaven as I’ve known it to mean or be is burning to the ground to reveal what it really is:

Heaven is a sanctuary.

Heaven is a place of peace.

Heaven is _here_. And I have my own angel.

I’m not ready to go back to the church. Far from it. But I see, in Thorin, what it’s supposed to look like and I am attracted to it and it pulls me in.

I feel pity for Christians now.

Not anger.

Not hate.

But clear, absolute pity that they are so _dense_ that they can’t remember that that Bible is more than just the “Word of God.” It’s a history book too. And a powerful piece of literature…

If one knows how to read it right…

But none of that matters now, does it?

I lift my head and kiss Thorin, fingers running through his beard, and shift into a position a little easier for reaching his lips. I straddle his lap, cupping his face in both my hands as I press my lips to his again, swiping my tongue across the opening of his mouth which opens for me and I slide my tongue inside, met by his tongue curling around mine.

I pull my tongue out, nibbling his bottom lip. I stand up and pull him toward my room. “I want you,” I say, “Right now. I want you beneath me and moaning my name.”

His eyes darken and I kiss him again, pushing him down onto my bed.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's one last sex scene here. If this is uncomfortable for you, again, I ask you to skip to the first hashtag.

_“I want you,” I say, “Right now. I want you beneath me and moaning my name.”_

_His eyes darken and I kiss him again, pushing him down onto my bed._

I retrieve lube and a couple of condoms before I strip him down, kissing every inch of skin I can reach and leaving goosebumps on his skin with each little touch I leave on him. His fingers tremble as they lace through my hair and tug gently, pulling me back up to his lips. I give him my mouth, cupping his growing erection beneath his pants.

I unbutton his pants and sit up to pull them off him. He watches me undress, hands fisted at his sides. I grab his wrist and press his hand against my chest. Thorin sits up and our lips meet again. I groan in his mouth as his thumb rubs my nipple.

Thorin moves his hand away to suck the bud and I let his hands wander, undressing me. His teeth bite down on my nipple gently and I pull his hair. He looks up at me and kisses it again before laying back on the bed, arms crossed under his head. I kiss his clavicle, down his breast and abdomen. His fingers thread through my hair. I kiss his inner right thigh, nipping at the soft flesh and lathing it with my tongue. Thorin’s breathing is deep and focused and his body relaxed.

I run the pad of my finger behind his scrotum, feeling the muscles tense and relax beneath my touch. I climb up, gripping his hips, and lean over him, catching his lips in mine.

“Turn over,” I say, getting off him so he can do so. Once his back is to me, I kiss down his spine. I sit up and grab the bottle of lube, squeezing into my hand and spreading it around. I spread the globes apart. “Relax, Sweetheart,” I remind him.

Thorin’s breathing runs deeper, slower, and I feel his tenseness leave. I press my finger inside him, pumping it in and out slowly before I risk another, stretching him slowly. On adding a fourth finger, he pushes against me, and my fingers slide in to the knuckles.

“All right?” I ask.

“Yes,” he says, voice deep and airy. I groan, “Bilbo, please…”

I pull my hand out and rip the condom packet open, rolling the plastic over my cock and coating lube onto my cock. I line the head up with his entrance and ease in, hands gripping his hips. “Let me know if you hurt.”

He nodded and I rolled my hips forward until I’m buried in him. I lay over him, kissing his shoulder and reaching for his hand. He sighs and I kiss his neck, daring to move a little faster. Our breathing mingles and he bucks against me and squeezes.

“Fuck!” I hiss, shuddering. He relaxes and I slide deeper and faster into him. He presses against me again and his breathing is harder and shorter. I reach for his cock, stroking him to completion as my own climax begins to build.

“ _Bilbo…_ ” he whispers. “ _Bilbo…oh God…Yes…_ ” His back arches into me and cum coats my hand. He falls beneath me, shivering through each remaining thrust I have until I cum, gasping. I pull out and climb out. My legs are shaky, but still working, so I wrap a sheet around my waist and fetch a cloth, returning to Thorin and wiping us both up.

Once the cloth is tossed, we change the sheets. Once we’re back in bed, I curl into him, head resting against his chest and hand running through his chest hair. His hand stills mine, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles into the skin of my own. And his other hand scratches my back lightly, sending shivers down my spine.

“I love you,” I whisper, closing my eyes. It’s been a long day…

#

I’m woken by a kiss on my forehead. Those lips moved to my eyelids, then the tip of my nose…and finally my lips. I return it, daring to open my eyes.

It’s morning. I hear rain outside, and the scream of sirens. I see Thorin, taken aback by how blue his eyes are: bright, clear blue, stark against his black hair.

“Good morning,” I mumble, pulling my arms free to wrap around his neck. “Sleep well?”

“I did. You?”

“Mm-hm,” I reply.

I pull him down for another kiss and nibble his lip, asking for entrance into his mouth. He grants it and my tongue slides past his teeth and his tongue curls around mine. My hands slide down to his shoulders. Thorin’s hand threads through my hair, tugging it back, and my head tilts back. We break for air and he kisses my neck.

“I don’t deserve you,” I mumble. Thorin pulls away, looking down at me.

“Why?” he asks, cupping my cheek.

“I love you, and I can’t fathom how you could love me back after everything that happened to me.”

He doesn’t answer for a while. “I’m debating whether to get into some philosophy in answering that…” I laugh lightly. “But I suppose that might be a bit over your head.”

I chuckle. “Just a bit.”

“Honestly,” he sighed. “As I said before, I feel much the same and I’ve not much of a past in comparison.”

I disagree, but let him explain. His past isn’t as _colorful_ as mine. But no less exciting with the family drama and his tenacity to do what he believes is the right thing…

“But I’d rather have a few months with you than never have known you at all. Besides, you don’t need to think about your past anymore. It’s gone, it’s done with and I am nothing less than amazed with your strength, Bilbo. I am angry that such… _things_ happened to you, but you don’t have to be afraid anymore. I love you and I’m not going anywhere. Excluding the physical sense, of course. I _might_ be moving to Albany soon. We’ll see.”

I roll my eyes and push him off me so I can sit up and glare at him. “Where do you get the right to be so sweet?” He chuckles and I kiss him. “You are too sweet for your own good,” I mutter against his lips. “Too adorable.” I pull away. “We should get out of bed at some point today.”

Thorin turned to the clock. “We should.”

I slide out of bed, pulling on a pair of sweats. “Go take a shower. I’ll make breakfast.”

“Is that an order?” he asks playfully.

“It could be,” I say, trying to sound threatening and failing miserably. He pouts and I run from the room, laughing. I stretch and start making a hearty breakfast.

“Yes…” I turn to Thorin. He’s wearing my robe—which is _way_ too small on him and the man has _no_ right displaying those thighs or that chest like that! Thank God it’s just us right now—and his cell phone is pressed to his ear. “I see…yeah, I can do that…thank you…I’ll tell him…you to. Goodbye.”

He hangs up and turns to me. “Before you yell at me to get my butt into the shower, that was your dad.”

“I wasn’t…never mind. And? Did you get the job?” He beams at me and nods.

“I don’t start _officially_ for a few weeks,but yes. I’ll, er, have to get _another_ job for monetary reasons—seems the protestant church is run a lot more differently than I thought—but…”

“That’s great! And, well, you know that knack for listening to people you have?” I say, abandoning the eggs, switching the pan to another burner, to wrap my arms around his neck. “You’d be a great shrink.”

“I never studied psychology! Religious Studies and Philosophy Double Major, remember?”

I hummed. “I do, and you _did_ admit it’s more up your alley too.”

“When?”

“Did you not tell me that telling your parishioners to just say a prayer and slap their wrist was not something you were ever comfortable with? You could be a great psychologist, or therapist, shrink…it doesn’t matter: you’re good at listening and offering advice. I’m sure there are Christians out there who wish there was a Christian psychologist around who wouldn’t try to push their thoughts away from what they believe. You could do that. And you’re good with kids. Schools hire psychologists too. You don’t need an ordainment to do what God called you to do, Sweetheart. And I’ll help however I can. Now, go take a shower, and breakfast will be ready when you come out.”

He kisses me and heads to the bathroom. As I make breakfast, my smile falls.

 _It’s a two hour difference_ , I remind myself. _Nothing will happen this time. Nothing will happen. Albany’s safer than Afghanistan. There’s no crazy stalker this time…there isn’t…_

I sigh, closing my eyes.

_Keep him safe, you hear me! I can’t lose someone else! I can’t…I’m not that strong! If you exist, keep him safe._

I open my eyes, wiping the tears. Why I am afraid, why I am terrified I do not know. Two hours by car is better than the ocean. He isn’t even leaving the _state_! Why am I so scared?

I can’t put my finger on it. I am glad for him. I am very glad for him and I’ll stand by his side, still my hands shake and my eyes sting.

 _Right now_ , I tell myself, _just make breakfast. Focus on the “now.” Worry about what’s coming when it’s time to worry about it._

I scrape the eggs into a bowl and I toast some bread, cook the bacon to crunchy crisps…and set a jug of orange juice on the table. And heat water for coffee. Or tea. Either works.

Thorin returns, hair sleek, and dressed in the black suit, collar stark against his whole being—it masks my beloved, making him seem unapproachable and distant, and I am glad he can be rid of it soon. He sits down. “Would it be too much trouble to send you my resignation later? For editing?”

“Of course not,” I say, kissing him. “Would it be troubling if I was there with you?” I ask, sitting beside him. We pile however much we want on our plates.

“Not particularly. I think the Bishop will be glad to be rid of me anyway.”

“Well, he’ll regret it sooner or later.”

“I doubt it. I’m not ‘orthodox’ enough for his liking. Finding out I’m in a relationship would probably just be the final blow to him. If anything, he’d like knowing that I spared the church a scandal. Especially after last…wasn’t it May?”

I hum, drumming my fingers on the table. “Yeah, I think so. The May _before_ last, actually.” He nods, taking a bite of toast. “I’m sure a lot would call him a hypocrite.”

“He doesn’t know you’re gay, though.”

“He does,” he said. “He confronted me about my stance on it enough times to know. He _doesn’t_ know that I have a lover who is a talented writer, an amazing cook, and very cute.” I roll my eyes, blushing and he kisses my cheek.

He helped clean the kitchen and I follow him to the door. “Call me later?” I ask. “I’d call myself, but…”

“Of course,” he said. “I’ll call when I can.”

“Have a good day.”

“You too.”

“I love you.”

He kisses me. “Love you too.” The door closes behind him and I watch him go from the window, a small smile on my lips.

#

I bit the plastic covering of my pen. I don’t need it, since Thorin sent me an electronic copy of his letter, but it helps me concentrate. That and tapping it against the table.

It’s half a page, which may be a bit long, so I condensed most of his sentences. There was one he didn’t need, as it was both negative and too personal. (I left him a note in the comments letting him know that any negativity was unnecessary.)

All in all, it summarizes that he’s decided to leave the clergy and move to Albany due to his different views about faith and what constitutes as “sinful.” (Okay.) I add in that he should say he has nothing against the church itself, or the clergy or parishioners, but that he feels it is time to move on and that he feels better off switching to a protestant denomination.

That done, I send it over to him and stretch. My phone rings, jolting me out of the peace and quiet in the apartment. I answer. “Hello?”

“Who is this?”

 _Click_.

Shit. Fuck this. I don’t…I check the call history and text it to Dori, asking him to run it for me. I chuckle. Funny how I’m okay with people following me around town sending chills down my spine, but when I get a call, I call the police right away.

I guess I’m just weird that way.

Dori called back.

“ _Can you get to the precinct?_ ”

“Sure.” I stand, gathering my things. “Why? Who is it?”

“ _Not sure. Burner cell. Could be anyone from your past though. Or that photographer._ ”

I sigh. “Beorn and I are just friends. He apologized for creeping on me and the worst he does is invite me out to have coffee a couple times.”

“ _Coffee_?”

“Shut it. He knows I’m in a relationship.”

“ _Go ahead and be oblivious then. Just get your ass here and we’ll put a list together of potential exes and the like._ ”

“Oh c’mon!” I head to the door. “The only guys I can think of who’d do this are both in prison last I checked. And they have restraining orders.”

“ _Any new stalkers then_?”

I sigh. Smaug is the only one who comes to mind. “You know, I should _really_ consider moving.”

“ _Maybe you should, but then we’d all miss you._ ” I lock the door behind me. “ _Call your boyfriend or Nori. We’re going to try tracing the number again_.”

“All right. Thanks.”

“ _Sure. See you in a bit, Bilbo_.”

He hung up and I dial Thorin. My gut twists. He won’t like this.

“ _Bilbo? Is something wrong_?”

“Well,” I begin. “Depends on what you mean by wrong…” I tell him about the call I received. I didn’t expect him to start ranting. I wait for him to finish. “I sent it to Dori and he told me to get my ass to his precinct.” I hear his sigh. “Better?”

“ _Much. I’ll see you there in a bit._ ”

“Thorin—”

“ _The senior priest pretty much heard everything all ready. I was a bit loud when you mentioned that you managed to get_ another _stalker. Why is that?_ ”

“No idea.” I descend into the subway station, eyes scanning the crowd for a familiar face of any kind. I see none. “But I think we’ll be checking release dates on…well…”

I stand in line for the train.

“ _Too many people fall in love with you,_ ” Thorin growled. “ _I worry about that…_ ”

“Well, I should’ve been worrying about it a long time before now,” I admitted. “Moving would be a pain, but I should probably…”

“ _Move in with me. I’m asking as your boyfriend_ and _as a friend. Plus, we both would manage rent a little easier._ ”

Well at least he didn’t propose again.

I smiled and I wish he could see it and know how happy and safe I feel with him. “I’ll think about it,” I say, despite the screaming _yes_ that echoes in my head. “Did you get my edits?”

“ _I did_.”

The train arrives and people file off. Once on, I scan the crowd again, searching for anything familiar and finding no one that catches my eye even a little bit. The train lurches into motion and I grip the metal bar in a tighter grasp. Thorin expresses his thanks for my help.

“ _I have to go_ ,” he said. “ _I’m supposed to be in the confessional in five minutes, but I’ll call again when I’m done._ ”

“Leave your phone in your office then,” I said, “I’ll text you when I get to the precinct. It’s the seventeenth one, actually. Really close to the Church.”

“ _I know where that is. All right. I’ll meet you there when I’m done here._ ”

We exchange goodbyes and I hang up. I consider calling someone else, but decide that no one is really going to try anything in a crowded subway train. My hands shake against my desire to stay calm and I pinch the bridge of my nose, sighing.

_Why now? Of all times, why does this have to happen again now?_

Several minutes pass agonizingly slow. My gaze continues to shift from person to person as indiscreetly as I can, trying to pinpoint someone I might know.

I know I shouldn’t. I know that if I do recognize someone, I probably won’t like it.

Finally, I get off and stride through the crowd toward the precinct. I breathe easier once I’m in, and relax. Dori approaches me. “Any more mystery calls?” he asked.

I shake my head, texting Thorin. _I’m at the precinct. See you soon._

“Good to hear, but the trace is getting us nowhere. Most likely he used a burner.”

“Let’s get that list taken care of, all right.”

I follow him to the back and I list off anyone I know who might still be alive. Sauron and Sméagol were at the top of the list, followed by Smaug being the most recent, a few homophobes who used to bother me in high school…

I was dismissed to the lounge while the names were run and decide to distract myself with work. Dori returns as my phone rings, alerting me to a text. He clears his throat, hand held out. I roll my eyes—I’m sure it’s just Thorin—and hand it to him. He checks the message and hands it back to me.

“So, I’m not sure if you’d consider this good or bad news, but the first guy on your list, Sauron Gorthaur, he died trying to escape prison a few months after he was incarcerated.”

Well, I’m not about to do a happy dance, but that’s _one_ thing off my list. “Do you…”

“Yeah, there’s a police report attached. He tried to take a convenience store cashier hostage and was shot in the head by one of the officers on his tail: Isildur…” he glanced at the file, “Anduny? I don’t know how to pronounce his last name…” I glance over his shoulder.

Isildur Andúnië.

“ _An-dune-ee-eh_ ,” I say. “Or _an-dune-ee-uh_ , I guess. I don’t know for certain.”

“You’re guess is better than mine,” he said. “But there’s that. The other, Sméagol Rivers, still incarcerated and as far as I can tell, hasn’t tried to make any contact with you since then. We’re calling the prison he’s at right now just to make sure.”

“Okay.”

“And Smaug, well, that’s a character. He’s tied to several companies that went bankrupt and a friend of mine might be interested in looking into him.”

I nod. I understand that.

“How do you know him again?” I tell him and I can almost hear his teeth gnash. “Is the call something he might do?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Our last confrontations were always face to face.”

“Well, he’s our best bet unless you somehow managed to pick up someone new you’ve not met yet.” That’s not very comforting. “We’re still looking into the others, but it looks to me they were just idiots in high school, Bilbo. Most of them have clean noses.”

Sighing, I nod. “All right. I hope it is Smaug. I don’t know if I can handle more than one unwanted creep at a time.”

“About that plan to move…”

“I know,” I say, shifting my gaze to my phone and read Thorin’s text: _Good to know. Confessional is dead today, bored out of my mind. Solitaire’s more fun than it should be._

I sigh, texting him back. _I told you to leave your phone in your office, dammit! And stop playing solitaire when you should be working!_

He messages back almost immediately: _I’ll see you soon, Sweetie xoxo_

I snort.

“My boss thinks we should take your phone for a bit, just in case whoever called you decides to call again, we can trace it again.”

“Okay. Just a moment.” I send one last text: _I prefer real kisses, you sap. Dori’s going to have my phone for a bit, so don’t call or text. Spread word if you can. E-mail ok. Love you and see you soon._

I hand it to him and sit back down, deciding to try and work, though I wish I had my research materials with me. I really don’t have time for another stalker. Well, time is a relative thing for me, actually. I should say I don’t have the _tolerance_ for another stalker right now.

Sméagol had been enough. I’d have preferred for it to stay that way. Well it didn’t. I drum my fingers against the table…I sigh.

_I hate this. I hate that I have to go through this time and time again. What am I doing that makes me seem like prey? I’m nothing like that…I’m not significant in any way. I’m just a blogger and a poet. Why me? Why now? Other than Thorin moving, I’m happy. Why does my life have to be thrown into turmoil each time I’m happy?_

The door opens and I see Thorin. Fili and Kili on either side of them. Kili runs toward me, embracing me. “Bilbo!”

“Hey, Kili,” I greet. “Did you go to confession?”

“Mom made us.”

“Not that we did anything wrong,” Fili said. “Azog got loose and ruined the flower bed.”

“Azog?”

“The Third!” Kili announced proudly. Thorin sighed.

“My family decided to make it a family name for any dog we had. The first one was at least well behaved…but was it not true you let him out?”

“Okay, so we did let him out and go rip up the flower garden, but it was well deserved!” Kili said. “We told you that, Uncle Thorin.”

“I doubt that,” Thorin sighed.

“So why are we picking you up at a police station?” Fili asked, smirking. “Did you break the law?”

“No!”

“ _Fili_!”

“Ooh, Bilbo’s in trouble!” Kili teased.

I snort, ruffling his hair. “I have a friend who works here and he’s doing a favor for me. Though I do have a few interestingly inappropriate stories about getting arrested when I was _younger_ that you’ll have to wait until you’re older to hear.”

“What?!” Kili shouts. “You _used_ to get _arrested_!”

“C’mon!” Fili added. “Tell us? Please?”

“Not on your life,” Thorin growled, glaring at me. I grin back.

“Nori,” is all I have to say. Thorin shook his head.

“Do I want to know?”

“Not really,” I laugh. “No.” I kiss him. “Be glad I’m reformed.”

“I _am_ glad. I’m also glad that Nori’s reformed.”

“Ditto to that!” Dori called. “Now if I can just figure out who Ori’s girlfriend is…”

“Good luck with that.”

“The kid’s tightlipped,” he muttered, handing my phone back, “Must come from having a cop and an ex-delinquent for brothers. He hides things _way_ too well. Anyway, it’s bugged, so be careful what you say.” He smirks at me and Thorin. I wish he wouldn’t. “However, we’ll be able to trace any unwanted numbers, but only if they’re on for a minute or two, so if he or she calls again, _stall them_.”

“I’ll do what I can. Thanks, Dori.”

We left the precinct and I gripped Thorin’s hand in mine, leaning against him.

“Is someone after Bilbo?” Kili asked. “Cuz I got a bow and some arrows now—”

“You are _not_ shooting anyone,” Thorin growled.

“But—”

“I appreciate the offer, Kili, but I’m siding with your uncle on that one. No shooting people. With _anything_.” He pouted. I’m not sure he understands why it’s not okay…or maybe he does, but…

Oh well. I ruffled his hair.

“Thank you, though. You don’t have to worry about me, Kili.” I squeeze Thorin’s hand, leaning against him and laying my head on his shoulder. “And thank _you_ for coming. I appreciate it…”

He’s still wearing his priest…stuff…Shit. I pull away, making sure I’m right. Collar’s still there. Yep. How many had…oh fuck!

“No one cares,” Fili said. “Except idiots like the Bishop. He found out cuz this jerk was talking to him when we waited for Thorin to finish up with confession.”

I turn to Thorin. “Smaug,” he clarifies.

“I’m sorry…” I whisper.

“I told them I was leaving the clergy anyway before coming to get you. He’ll have the letter on his desk tomorrow, though it speeds things up…”

“I am _so_ sorry. Where…do you…”

“I’ll worry about it later,” he said. “Right now, I’m more worried about you.” He takes my hand back in his. “Do you know…”

I shook my head. “We don’t know yet.”

“Can Bilbo stay with us tonight too?” Kili asked. We looked at him. “We told Uncle Thorin to just come home with us tonight. We’ve plenty of room at the house: Great-Grandpa and Grandma have the master bedroom, then there’s Frerin’s room, and Mom and Dad have the next biggest room, then there’re our rooms, and we have three guest rooms and…”

I stare at Thorin, who shakes his head. I know his family is full of Italian bankers, but _this_ is ridiculous!

“It’s up to you, though,” Fili says. Kili fixes me with his best puppy eyes and they grin. “Please?” they chorus. I look at Thorin again and he shrugs.

“You’re welcome to,” he said. “Though I warn you my parents and grandparents…”

“I can guess,” I say. “It won’t be the worst thing that happens to me today, and you’re siblings are tolerable, at least.” I inhale and exhale.

I don’t know what’s going on with my life right now. I don’t know what the hell just happened. My boyfriend’s a soon-to-be-ex-priest. His family is, most likely, billionaires, and I have someone unwanted after me again. But, when Thorin holds my hand, I feel nothing but peace…Real peace even though I should be filled with nothing but uncertainty.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll stay the night.”

~The End~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I know. It's far from really complete, but I'm considering a sequel surrounding what happens in this chapter onward. After all, they gotta deal with Smaug, right?
> 
> And a big thank you to everyone who managed to stay with it! I know the religious parts got a bit heavy at times and I am sure I lost a few readers because of it (it was the risk I took). Being a Christian, I think I couldn't help it...but thanks for reading as far as you were able! 
> 
> One last thing: I am very nervous requesting this, but...if anyone's willing to draw art for this story, I'd much appreciate it. I'm a terrible artist and can't draw to save my life. 
> 
> Thanks and God bless!


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